Spin the Dawn (Elizabeth Lim)

hunched over my work. As I stood, I saw the basic shape of a shoe on Norbu’s table, but he hadn’t begun to construct it. Perhaps he had experience making slippers, but I still thought it bold of him to waste this work session. When at last the gong in the front of the hall sounded, my fingers were raw from sewing. “Attention!” Lorsa shouted. “Stop your work at once.” Was it morning already? Light filtered in from the open windows, but I had barely noticed. I rubbed my eyes and turned to Minister Lorsa. To my surprise, Lady Sarnai accompanied him, her expression cold and unreadable. Why is she here? I wondered as the tailors and I murmured our greetings to the shansen’s daughter. “I’ve decided this challenge is too simple,” Lady Sarnai announced. “I am flattered His Imperial Majesty has bidden you to embroider slippers for me, but I have plenty. So I have decided to ask for something more—unique. “As empress, I will welcome visitors from all over the world. A’landan slippers are revered for their beauty and adherence to tradition. But in Samaran, the queens wear slippers made of iron, and in Agoria, the princesses wear shoes wrought of gold. I would like a pair that embodies such strength and power, yet is pleasing to the eye.” A servant entered and set down a stack of blue porcelain plates. Then another brought glass bowls, glass vases, and fluted wine vessels. Soon the front table was piled with objects from paper to straw to bronze, even flowers. Master Taraha asked what everyone was wondering: “Your Highness, a tailor does not usually work with porcelain or glass or—” Lady Sarnai cut him off. “The imperial tailor is a master chosen by the gods. I expect him to be able to work with any material, whether it be glass or silk. Or even the air, should I ask it. If that is a problem, you are welcome to go home.” That ended the questions. Lady Sarnai turned on her heel, and Minister Lorsa hurried after her. As soon as they were gone, the tailors dashed for the table. I lurched forward, hobbling as fast as I could with my cane, but someone kicked it from my hand and I fell hard. Longhai pulled me up with a strong hand. “Hurry, Tamarin, before everything’s taken.” Master Garad had already snatched the straw, and the others went for the bronze and iron and paper. By the time I reached the table, only the glass and porcelain items were left. Norbu reached for the porcelain plates at the last minute, leaving me with glass. Master Boyen peeked over my screen. He held a handful of orchids and was already weaving the leaves and stems into the shape of a slipper. “Ohhh, glass.” He tsked with false sympathy. “That’s going to be difficult.” “I’ll manage,” I said through my teeth. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you do this time,” Boyen said. “We were all so impressed by your shawl, even Yindi is jealous. Best not to rile the old man too much. Glass breaks so easily, and we don’t know who spilled tea on your shawl, do we?” I glared at him until he left. Then, with a sigh, I set my materials on my table. What did I have to work with? A pair of glass bowls and a tall, slender vase. Scoring and staining the glass would be easy enough. But making slippers with it?

I gripped the edge of my stool, envisioning slippers made out of glass. Each idea ended with themshattering. Unless … they were already shattered. My mind raced furiously to come up with a plan. I took a wide brush and painted the insides of the vase with my pea-flower-blue dye. As it dried, I ran to the kitchen and came back with a sticky rice mortar that I’d use for glue. Carefully, I lined my work area with a long scrap of muslin. Then, holding up my cane, I slammed the vase over and over until a thousand broken shards glittered on my table like blue diamonds. One by one, I glued the shards over the base of the slippers. The glass cut into my fingers, making me bleed, but I bandaged them with scraps and kept going. I wouldn’t stop until every inch of the shoe sparkled. I would create something stunning. And I didn’t need my scissors to do it. On the day of our judgment, Lady Sarnai returned in the morning, accompanied by Minister Lorsa and the Lord Enchanter. Seeing the Lord Enchanter did nothing to soothe my already anxious nerves, but I did my best to ignore him and attended to bandaging my fingers and sweeping the leftover glass frommy table. I wanted to collapse on my stool out of exhaustion, but I stood in front of my station like the other tailors to await Minister Lorsa’s announcement. He declared, “Each tailor will wear his slippers to present to Lady Sarnai.” Lorsa chuckled. “If he is unable to take eight steps in them, he will be sent home.” Relief washed over me as I slipped on my glass shoes. They fit easily and weren’t too difficult to walk in, but I saw Longhai staring down in dismay at his large, swollen feet. The old tailor had been kind to me. I didn’t want to see him eliminated over this silly challenge. Pretending to practice moving in my slippers, I walked across the hall toward my friend. “Walk on your toes,” I advised him quietly as I passed his station. “It’s only a few steps.” Longhai sent me a grateful look. He wasn’t the only one struggling. The sight of Yindi tottering about in his slippers, cursing his “demon’s luck,” almost made me pity him. Lady Sarnai seemed amused by everyone’s discomfort. But miraculously, nearly everyone walked in his slippers without breaking them, except Master Garad, whose feet were so wide that his straw slippers collapsed. Lady Sarnai lifted her chin, and he was dismissed. I noticed then that the Lord Enchanter had disappeared from her side. His stride was so quiet I barely noticed him approaching my station. “You’ve quite a dainty pair of feet for a boy,” he said, pointing at them with his shiny black boot. Light refracted off my blue glass slippers, like a thousand bright stars swirling across the wooden floor. “You made them all by yourself?” “Yes, sir,” I said, but I avoided looking up at him. I knew if I did, his pale, ever-changing eyes would snare me. “They’re exquisite,” the Lord Enchanter allowed. “Few diamonds sparkle as much as your slippers, Master Tamarin.” He folded his arms, his long fingers tapping against his elbow, and

smiled. “Carry on, then.” I peeked over my screen to catch a glimpse of the other tailors’ work. Taraha had used dozens of vibrant colors to embroider a hundred flowers onto each shoe. A masterpiece, but … he stubbornly hadn’t used any of the special materials Lady Sarnai had requested. He was asked to go home. Master Boyen had gotten the palace blacksmith to smelt his bronze pieces into soles, but they were so heavy they tore the delicately woven orchids as he shuffled his eight paces. He was also sent home. The walking test was over, so I took my slippers off and laid them on my table, covering them with the embroidered satin cloth. Lady Sarnai would pick that exact moment to arrive at my table. “Where are your slippers?” Startled, I jumped. “Your Highness—here … here they are.” I lifted the satin cover, expecting the shoes to glitter and sparkle, but a cloud passed over the sun, dulling their brilliance. Lady Sarnai scoffed. “A bit simple for my taste. I’m disappointed, Master Tamarin. I had high hopes for you after seeing your shawl.” No! Change her mind. Fast. “I … I dyed them with pea flowers, Your Highness,” I rambled, “which I understand grew near your father’s castle—” “Do not attempt to ingratiate yourself with me,” Lady Sarnai said, but she’d stopped tapping her fan on her palm. The sun had returned and sent beams of light dancing off my slippers across the table and screen. An arched eyebrow rose. “What are they made of?” I picked up one of the slippers to show how it sparkled in the light. “Glass.” Lady Sarnai’s eyes narrowed. “Glass will break.” Hastily, I slipped the slippers on again to show her they wouldn’t. “They’re—” “A paradoxical material,” the Lord Enchanter cut in. “Fragile, yet resilient. Like the slippers.” “You’ve taken a liking to the boy,” Lady Sarnai mocked him. “Shall I have him sent to you after hours?” Unruffled, he said, “How thoughtful, Your Highness. I have been thinking about having new shoes made, but I think I’ll stay with my current pair a little longer. I’ve no desire to walk on any more pins and needles than one does with you already.” I stifled a smile, but Lady Sarnai wasn’t quite so amused. She snapped her fan open and returned to the front of the hall. “Master Norbu, Master Longhai, and Master Yindi shall remain,” she said. I bit my lip, hating how my insides curled. Yindi sent me a smirk, but Lady Sarnai wasn’t finished. “And,” she said, “I will keep Master Tamarin as well.” Gratitude and relief washed over me, but it was short-lived. “Master Yindi has won for the second time,” Lady Sarnai went on. “He shall join me at the banquet tonight in my honor. To the rest of you who remain—do not disappoint me again.” My inner voice nagged. You were almost sent home. You could have won—if you had used the scissors.

I CHAPTER EIGHT ’d been in the palace a week, and gone from home for nearly two. I missed Baba and Keton terribly; sometimes after leaving the hall I composed letters to them in my head. It sounded silly, but it lessened my pangs of loneliness. Now that there were only four tailors left, I had time to write an actual letter. I sat by a pond of carp surrounded by plum blossom trees, which was quickly becoming my favorite spot in the palace, with a sheet of parchment on my lap, and my brush … but I didn’t know what to say. Dear Baba—and Maia, The emperor has asked twelve men to compete for the position of imperial tailor, and I had to make a pair of slippers last night—out of glass! Can you believe it? I didn’t use those scissors you gave me. I hesitated and folded an arm over the pond’s stone edge. “Oh, Baba, did you know what they can do? I need to win, but what if I can’t without them?” I wrung my hands. “No, I can’t write that.” I didn’t use those scissors you gave me, and my slippers passed the challenge. I hope the money I sent home will be enough to last through the summer. My brush trembled as I bit my lip, reading aloud as I wrote my last line: And Maia, twelve steps. One for each day I’ve been gone. A deep voice startled me. “Do you often make conversation with yourself?” Stuffing my letter into my pocket, I lurched up and almost fell into the pond. I knew without turning around that it was the Lord Enchanter. His voice was growing familiar to me. “I see you’ve survived another round,” he said when I faced him. He wore black yet again—a good color for skulking in the shadows and catching people unaware. “It would have been a shame if you’d been sent home,” he continued. “Lucky for you, I decided to interfere.” I bit back a retort. It was true, he had helped me. Remembering his rank, I bent my back into a stiff bow and said, as politely as I could muster, “Thank you, sir.” “Bowing, now?” He eyed me. “Someone must have told you who I am. Pity. Now you’re as formal and boring as the rest, and calling me sir.” “I do not know how else to address you.” His mouth set into a wry smile. “My full name would be too complicated for you to pronounce. You may call me Edan.”

“Edan,” I repeated. The name sounded foreign on my tongue. He made a slight bow. “I serve as His Imperial Majesty’s resident Lord Enchanter. To the West, I am known as His Most Illustrious; to the East, I am His Most Illuminating; and in every other corner of the world I am His Most Formidable.” I drew in a sharp breath. What had Sendo told me about sorcerers? All I could remember was that they served kings all over the world, and they drank the blood of young girls. Finlei had always scoffed at such tales, but the thought made me shiver. Have courage, Maia, I reminded myself. If Edan wanted a young girl, he’d have plenty to choose from in the palace. Besides, the man I saw looked far too young to have traveled the world. I was sure his boasts were hot air and nothing else. “I’ve never heard of you,” I muttered. Edan laughed. “You’re skeptical. That’s wise. But odd coming from one so young.” “My brother told me fairy tales of magic when he …” I couldn’t bring myself to say when he was alive. My tone darkened. “But that’s what they are … just fairy tales.” “The A’landans are superstitious people. Constantly praying to their dead ancestors. If you believe in spirits and ghosts, I don’t see why you wouldn’t believe in magic.” I did believe in magic. I just wouldn’t admit it to him, of all people. “What I believe in is hard work and providing for my family.” “You’ll do well in that,” Edan said. “I’ve seen your work. Very impressive. I found the shawl especially … interesting.” That sly look again, as if he knew my secret. My cheeks betrayed me by reddening. No, he couldn’t possibly know. I struggled to sound nonchalant. “What do you know of sewing?” “What do I know, indeed?” Edan said mischievously. “I seem to bring out the worst in you. With everyone else, you appear to be quite—” “The xitara?” I said flatly. Edan laughed. “I was going to say agreeable.” How I wished he would go away. “Looks are deceiving.” “I couldn’t put it better myself.” He grabbed my cane and rapped my leg—the one that was supposed to be irreparably broken—and I cried out. “Hey!” I was so upset I forgot to keep my voice deep and manly. “Give that back!” “Why? You don’t need it.” Scowling, I made a show of limping, holding on to a hedge for support. Edan tossed me back my cane. He was watching me intently. “You think I haven’t noticed that you favor your right foot half the time, and your left foot the other half? Only a fool would miss it, but to your good fortune, this palace is full of fools.” My anger evaporated, replaced by fear. “Please don’t—” “But that’s not the real secret, now is it?” The color drained from my face. I stopped staring down and looked directly into Edan’s eyes. They were amber now, thick and bright as the sap of a tree. They bored into me. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.” “You’re not Keton Tamarin, and you’re certainly not old Kalsang Tamarin. His two oldest sons died in battle, but I heard he had a girl who managed the shop quite well during the war …”

My stomach flipped. Edan leaned closer, his eyes blue and cool yet piercing. I could have sworn they had been yellow only seconds ago. “Would I be correct in presuming you are Maia Tamarin?” My lips parted, but Edan put a finger to them before I said a word. “Think carefully before lying to an enchanter,” he warned me. “Sometimes it helps to look in a mirror.” He whisked one into my hand and raised it to my face. My hand jumped to my mouth. The reflection was me—but with my hair long again, and my brother, the real Keton, behind me. “What magic is this?” I demanded. “Simply a reflection of the truth,” he replied. “We enchanters see more than most. I knew you weren’t Keton Tamarin. You’re that girl you painted on your shawl.” I pushed aside the mirror. “I was trying to paint Lady Sarnai.” “Hmm,” he said, studying me. “The resemblance isn’t striking, but it’s there. Curious.” “There is no resemblance,” I snapped. “I’m not a girl.” He took the mirror from me. “I’m not going to tell anyone.” “You think I trust you?” “You should.” Edan loosened his collar. It was high and looked uncomfortable, given the heat, but there was no perspiration on his forehead. I was wearing my lightest linen and already sweating. “Come, what keeps you from trusting me?” I could think of a thousand reasons, so I had no idea what possessed me to blurt, “My … my brother said that sorcerers drink the blood of young girls.” Edan simply burst out laughing. When he collected himself, he said, rather sternly, “The trial is down to four tailors. If you’re going to win, it’s time to show off a little.” My brows furrowed, and I lowered my defenses. “You told me my shawl was too good.” “For the first challenge,” Edan corrected. “I didn’t mean for you to become so underwhelming for the second one.” “I wasn’t—” I groaned. There was no point in trying to explain to him how difficult it was to create a miracle in three days—without using magical scissors, anyway. “Why do you want me to win?” I asked instead. He smiled mysteriously. “An enchanter never reveals his intentions.” He reached into his sleeve and pulled out my scissors. “Let’s just say—these wouldn’t belong to any ordinary seamstress.” “How did you get those?” I stood on my toes, reaching to get the scissors back. “Those are mine!” “So there is some fire in you.” His smile widened. “Why should I give them back? Are they special to you?” My pulse quickened. Those scissors worked miracles. I couldn’t allow the emperor’s Lord Enchanter to learn my other secret and get me kicked out of the trial. “My father gave them to me,” I said, still reaching. “Anything else special about them?” “No,” I insisted. He lowered the scissors an inch. “Say ‘please.’ ” “Please,” I said grudgingly. Edan held them out. I snatched the scissors back and thrust them into my pocket. “You’re not a good liar, Maia Tamarin.” Edan tilted his head. “Those scissors are charmed. Any

enchanter could smell their magic on you.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I turned to go, but Edan blocked my path. “The slippers you made were very good, but with the scissors, you could have put Yindi, Norbu, and Longhai to shame.” Still not letting me pass, he crouched so our eyes were level. “If you think I’m going to send you home for it, you’re quite mistaken. You’ve piqued my curiosity, Master Tamarin. Enchanted objects do not work for just anyone.” “What would you know about it?” I asked, trying to keep my voice sharp even though I was secretly curious. “Plenty.” Edan chuckled. “If you want to win the trial, xitara, you’re going to need my help.” I bristled at his arrogance. “Will you stop calling me that?” “You don’t like it?” “Why would I like being called a little lamb?” “Ah. You know your Old A’landan.” Looking suddenly amused, Edan tapped his chin. It was pointed, despite the squareness of his jaw. Not an unpleasing combination—but odd all the same. “I’ll consider it—if you win.” “I will win,” I replied. “And without your help.” “You’re a strange one, you know.” He watched me with crossed arms and a smirk. “When the other tailors arrived, they tried their best to bribe me with jewels, silks, furs, even one of their daughters—all for some help. But you refuse when I give it freely.” “You’re not helping me,” I said through my teeth. “You’re tormenting me.” That dry chuckle again. “As you say, Master Tamarin. But a suggestion—try putting a pebble in your shoe, so you at least remember which leg is supposed to be broken.” With that, he bowed to me as if I were as highborn a lady as the emperor’s bride-to-be. Then he walked away, whistling a tune. Me accept help from someone so insufferable? I scoffed. That he would even suggest it baffled me. I turned on my heel, refusing to glance back at him. But I did watch my footing for the rest of the day—and hoped, anxiously, that I could trust him to keep my secrets.

T CHAPTER NINE he next morning was blisteringly hot, which was no excuse for Yindi and Norbu to lounge about the hall with their shirts off, but they did it anyway. I averted my eyes, especially from Norbu, whose hairy belly really wasn’t something I wanted to see. For once I was grateful when Minister Lorsa arrived to announce our next challenge. “His Majesty will soon have the pleasure of welcoming important dignitaries from the Far West. As such, Her Highness Lady Sarnai requires new clothes to greet them. She is aware that you are all capable of sewing garments in our local A’landan style, but she wishes to explore your range. The tailor who makes her a jacket that best embodies the Spice Road from one end to the other will win this challenge.” My mind was already reeling. A’landi was the eastern end of the Great Spice Road, and Frevera the western end. What little I knew of fashion on that side of the world meant a plunging neckline, a prince’s ransom’s worth of lace, brocade, and tight bodices—the opposite of A’landi’s modest, flowing styles. Lorsa continued, “The four of you may go into the market this afternoon to purchase supplies. You will be given a stipend of three hundred jens, and half a week to complete the jacket.” He paused, the way he always did before he said something unpleasant. “Oh, and one more thing: it must be made of paper.” “Paper!” Longhai muttered as we walked into town. “Of all things …” He stroked his beard, then reached into his pocket for his wine flask. “She’s not going to wear paper to greet foreign dignitaries. You know, I’m beginning to suspect she’s using the trial as a way to postpone her marriage to Emperor Khanujin.” I clicked my tongue. Edan had said as much. I’d taken Edan’s advice about the pebble in the shoe, but now the pain of walking was real, making me too slow even for Longhai, who broke from my side to walk with Yindi. With a sigh, I continued alone. The trek from the palace into Niyan wasn’t easy—eighty-eight steps down from the palace, then two hundred more steps down Chrysanthemum Hill. Another mile below sprawled Tangsah Marketplace. Despite the breeze from the nearby Jingan River, the humidity gathered on my temples, pearls of sweat dripping down my cheeks onto my shoulders. The pins I used to fasten the bindings around my chest pricked my side, and I couldn’t help rubbing my irritated skin. My bandages smelled and chafed, but I forgot about my discomfort as soon as I saw Tangsah. I hadn’t been in a real marketplace since we’d lived in Gangsun. Vendors stretched from street to street, some in bright sloping tents in every shade of orange, some in carts trundling down the paved

roads. Ahead were jade carvers, drapery masters, and glassblowers, interspersed with donkeys and wild chickens and children milling about, and farther out were acrobats and fire-eaters. There was no order to the market, but I already loved it. “Quite the spectacle, isn’t it?” Longhai said, reappearing at my side. “It’s second only to the capital.” He pointed at the far side of Tangsah and added, “The merchants in the silk quarter will try to cheat you when they find out you’re working in the palace. Don’t pay more than half what they’re asking. And don’t act like it’s your first time here.” I shifted the weight from my foot to my cane. “Is it that obvious?” “Yes,” Longhai said. He paused. “You have real talent, Keton, but you’re young. If we weren’t in this silly competition, I would take you to be my apprentice.” He shrugged his wide shoulders. “This contest wearies me. We are craftsmen. We should learn from one another, not cut each other’s throats.” Before I could reply, Norbu slipped between us. “Are you coming to the alehouse with us, young Tamarin? I’ll buy you a drink, if it means learning your embroidery secrets. That shawl was marvelous.” I fumbled with my cane. “I need to spend the day buying supplies.” “Such a killjoy.” Yindi sniffed. “We have the day off and three hundred jens each. We should enjoy it.” “Easy for you to say,” Longhai said. “You won the last two challenges. I’m rather inclined to follow young Tamarin myself.” But he didn’t. Longhai had a weakness for drink. I had a feeling Yindi and Norbu were using it against him. “Aren’t you hot wearing all that?” Yindi said, waving at my tunic. I’d been wearing at least three layers to help obscure my chest. “This is cool weather to me,” I lied, hoping he wouldn’t notice the sweat pooling on the back of my neck. Yindi crossed his arms, his flat, pudgy nose wrinkling as usual. “You’re an odd one, Tamarin.” He shook his head and disappeared into the drinking house with Norbu. I stole a peek inside: it was full of men, some gambling at tiles and others drunkenly reciting poetry. In the center was Norbu, hobnobbing with the magistrates and nobles while his servant did his shopping. “Doesn’t he ever work?” I asked Longhai, before he too went inside. “Don’t underestimate Norbu,” Longhai said. “How do you think he is the richest tailor in A’landi? Certainly not by spending all day at the loom.” I retreated to the shade of a tangerine farmer’s tent and stared at my map. Then I tightened my money pouch around my neck; Tangsah was infamous for its pickpockets. Passing several bakers’ shops and tents, I spied sesame cakes and honeycomb cookies. My stomach growled. The palace fed me well, but there was nothing like honeycomb cookies fresh off the griddle. I shook off the craving. Silk, not cookies, I reminded myself. Thread, not cakes. With renewed determination, I set out to buy my supplies. After a few hours, my basket was heavy. I’d used up almost every fen of the money Lorsa had given us on dyes, new needles, gold foil to make metallic thread, and a smaller frame for more intricate embroidery.

I had two jens and thirty fen left. Just enough to buy myself some lunch. I stopped by the baker whose steamed vegetable buns looked and smelled freshest, and got an apple from the farmer next door with my remaining fen. There was a tap on my basket, and I jerked back, immediately assuming it was a pickpocket. It was Edan. “What are you doing here?” I demanded. “Why do you need any of this when you have those scissors of yours?” he said, frowning at the contents of my basket. I hurried away from the farmer’s stall. “I’m not going to use them.” He followed me. “Now that’s a foolish idea if I’ve ever heard one.” “Lady Sarnai hates magic. I’m not being sent home over a pair of scissors. And I refuse to cheat.” I glared at the Lord Enchanter. He was grinning and munching on a shiny yellow apple. My apple! “Do you ever take anything seriously?” “I take everything seriously. Especially magic. If I had enchanted scissors like yours, the trial would be over by now.” “You couldn’t sew to save your life,” I retorted, reaching for my apple. “Ah, but I wouldn’t need to.” He closed the snack in his fist, then opened his fingers. My apple had disappeared. I tried not to dwell on how he had done that; it would give him too much satisfaction. “Shouldn’t you be in the palace? Advising and protecting the emperor, or whatever it is you do?” “His Majesty doesn’t need my protection—or advice. He’s a grown man.” Edan grinned. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed.” The sun made everything feel very hot. Flustered, I said, “Emperor Khanujin is a great man. You could learn something from him.” “Such as? His grace and wit? His charm and beauty? I daresay someone’s infatuated.” Edan peered at me inquisitively. “Have you spoken to him?” My cheeks bloomed bright red. “N-No.” “Would you like to?” Edan touched his chin. “I could arrange it.” I remembered then what Lady Sarnai had said about Edan—that he’d taken a liking to me. No, I thought, he simply enjoyed tormenting me because he knew my secret. That I was a girl. Was that why I was so petulant around him? Or had it been so long since I’d had my brothers to look after me that I didn’t trust him? That I couldn’t trust him? “Are you so bored that you have nothing to do but follow me around?” “My duty is to protect A’landi and ensure that the royal wedding takes place. I follow you around to look after A’landi’s best interests.” “I thought you were following Lady Sarnai.” “Ah,” Edan said, looking pleased. “I see someone’s been listening to court intrigue. Very good, Maia.” “Will you not call me that in public?” I whispered harshly. His lips stretched into a smile. “Very well. But I may in private?” “Hmph.” I crossed my arms. “I don’t see the lady anywhere nearby.” “She is bathing in the holy waters of the Sacred Moon Temple. It wouldn’t do for me to have followed her there, so I took the opportunity to replenish my supplies.”

Edan held out his hands, which were empty. Before I could retort “What supplies?” a falcon dove into the marketplace, landing on Edan’s shoulder. His gaze still on me, Edan untied the scroll knotted on the falcon’s left claw and stroked the bird’s white throat. I held my breath as Edan read the note. His expression gave nothing away, but he let out a small, inaudible breath. “I hope you find someone to help you carry your goods home, Mistress—I mean, Master Tamarin. I would offer, but I’m afraid I’ve been summoned back to the palace. And as you know, one must obey the emperor.” “Even you?” I said. “The almighty Lord Enchanter?” “Even me.” Edan swooped a bow. The falcon on his shoulder craned its neck, peering at me with its round, yellow eyes. “Another time, Master Tamarin.” “I hope not,” I muttered. Edan chuckled, having heard me. “Careful of pickpockets!” he called from behind. Worried, I dug my hand into my pocket, only to find a new apple—and fifty jens. I whirled around, but Edan was gone. I let out an exasperated sigh. Never had I met anyone so insufferably pleased with himself. I took a bite of my new apple. And yet, maybe he wasn’t all bad. Maybe.

T CHAPTER TEN he following morning, just as we began drawing up designs and celebrating that we’d have the next few days free of the shansen’s daughter, who should stride into the Hall of Supreme Diligence but Lady Sarnai, unannounced and unexpected. Scissors clattered to the ground, and Longhai threw his flask behind his table as we all leapt to our feet in alarm. Lady Sarnai swept past our tables, wearing a white cloak made entirely of dove feathers, a quiver of scarlet arrows hanging on her shoulder and a bow in her hand. Minister Lorsa was noticeably absent from her side today. Only a maid accompanied her, one who looked as if she would rather do anything but carry the four dead birds gathered in her arms. As Lady Sarnai’s dark eyes swept over us, the maid slung a dead falcon on Norbu’s table, Yindi’s, Longhai’s, then mine. My bird landed with a thump, its sharp yellow eyes open and hollow, its grayspotted wings spread wide enough to cover the breadth of my table. I swallowed, thinking of the black hawk I’d seen my very first day in the palace. Lady Sarnai sniffed. “I desire these feathers to be incorporated into a silk sash for His Majesty. To wear over his ceremonial robes to the temple.” I hid a grimace. Surely, Lady Sarnai must know this would be a great insult to the emperor? It was forbidden to wear any signs of death into a temple. “Master Longhai,” she said. “You look ill at ease. Does my request distress you?” “No, Lady Sarnai,” he said quickly. “Curious,” she murmured. “The sight of my morning’s spoils made your Lord Enchanter so uncomfortable he excused himself from my company for the day.” I flinched at this news, remembering the falcon in the market. Had these birds been Edan’s pets? Lady Sarnai picked on me next. “The Lord Enchanter is such an enigmatic creature. What secrets simmer beneath that vile countenance, I wonder. Master Tamarin, I understand the two of you have become acquainted.” I opened my mouth to protest, but Lady Sarnai went on, “It would be wise to stay away from him. Magic is the art of demons, no matter how the Lord Enchanter denies it. And as you know, any outside assistance is forbidden in the trial.” “Yes, Your Highness.” “Good.” A sigh escaped her, and for a moment she looked quite miserable. But that cold mask returned, and she said, “I’ll leave you all to work.” I did not enjoy depluming the dead falcon, but the other tailors seemed to have no problems with the task. Longhai worked swiftly and was already arranging the feathers around his worktable. I heard snipping sounds from Norbu’s side of the room and couldn’t help but cringe every time his blades cut. Not long after Lady Sarnai left, Minister Lorsa appeared. “Kneel!” he barked at us, and we immediately dashed to the center of the room and touched our foreheads to the floor. “What’s going on?” I whispered to Longhai. I had my answer before the old man could reply.

Emperor Khanujin had arrived. The warmth of that first time I’d seen him washed over me once again. Only for a fleeting moment did I sense that it was strange, as if I were caught in some sort of spell that muddled my thoughts. I basked in his presence and hoped he would never leave. “Your Imperial Majesty,” we shouted, “may you live ten thousand years!” “Ruler of a thousand lands,” Lorsa’s voice rang. “Khagan of Kings, Son of Heaven, Favored of Amana, Glorious Sovereign of A’landi.” The titles went on and on. I didn’t dare look up, not even when the emperor finally spoke: “Rise.” I was the last to obey. I unbent my knees and stood, only to see Edan behind the emperor. He tilted his head at my left leg, reminding me it was supposed to be crippled. As I adjusted my position, I noticed Edan observing the feathers on our tables. The smirk he usually wore turned to a frown, and his arms stiffened at his sides. “I understand that Her Highness, Lady Sarnai, visited the Hall of Supreme Diligence this morning,” Emperor Khanujin said. “Yes, Your Majesty,” replied Lorsa. “She had an additional task for the tailors.” “What was it?” “She wished to surprise you with a feather sash to wear to your morning prayers.” Emperor Khanujin regarded Lorsa. “And did you not think to inform Lady Sarnai that it is forbidden to hunt any bird on imperial grounds?” Lorsa’s face darkened, and he lowered his eyes. “My humblest apologies, Your Majesty,” he began to babble, falling on his knees, bowing and kissing His Majesty’s feet until he was told to rise. Cautiously, I looked at the emperor and observed the dozens of jade and gold pendants adorning his neck and sash. One didn’t shine as brilliantly as the rest. It was bronze, and I made out the outline of a bird engraved on it. No wonder he was unhappy that Lady Sarnai hunted them in his gardens. “I am grateful for Lady Sarnai’s generosity,” Emperor Khanujin said, addressing us tailors now, “but I have no need for a new ceremonial sash. I wear my father’s, out of respect for the sacrifices he made to unite this country.” He paused. “Reuniting A’landi is now my responsibility. You may find it contrary to tradition that Lady Sarnai is overseeing the selection of the next imperial tailor, but her happiness is of the utmost importance to maintaining the peace of our realm. I trust you will do your best to please her.” “Yes, Your Majesty,” I intoned with the rest of the tailors. “You come from all parts of A’landi, and some of you have journeyed far. I look forward to welcoming one of you into the palace.” My heart was fluttering so fast I almost didn’t see Edan’s wink as he followed the emperor out. I shook myself from my trance. There was something strange about Emperor Khanujin. Strange and wonderful, I thought. Or strange and terrible.

It was late when I finally left the hall. My fingers were stiff from hours of knitting lace and folding silk ribbon flowers for Lady Sarnai’s jacket, and my mind was swimming from lack of sleep. As I opened the door to my room, all I could think about was collapsing onto my bed and— I reared back in surprise. My cot was aglow, and the walls seemed to be humming softly. My magic scissors. I yanked them out of the bundle under my mattress. Seeing them again, I felt my fingers almost instinctively slipping into the bows. It was so tempting. Lady Sarnai loathed magic, but Longhai had said it wasn’t cheating, and Edan had encouraged me to use them. I shook my head vigorously. You’re listening to Edan now, Maia? What’s gotten into you? I needed to get rid of the scissors. Before I could change my mind, I rewrapped them, took the bundle, and crept out into the gardens. I couldn’t throw them into a well, no matter how much I wished to be rid of them. The scissors had belonged to my grandmother and Baba had given them to me. Maybe I would bury them—just for a little while. I had just passed the magnolia courtyard when I heard a lady weeping. The sound was soft, almost lost amid crickets chirping. The sniffling stopped, replaced by a voice I knew all too well. “Who’s there?” Lady Sarnai. Her commanding tone made me freeze. I swallowed, aware I was somewhere I shouldn’t be, and yet something in her voice betrayed a trace of—fear? But Lady Sarnai was her father’s daughter. She didn’t let up. “Show yourself.” I stepped out from behind the bush. “M-my apologies, Y-Your Highness. I … I got lost on my way back to the hall and—” Lady Sarnai was the same height as me, but her voice—raw and thick with anger—made me feel small. “Did the emperor send you to spy on me?” My eyes widened. “N-No, Your Highness. I thought you were one of the maids.” Lady Sarnai scoffed, but she clenched her handkerchief and said nothing, looking so miserable my heart softened toward her. “You’re homesick?” I said gently. “I am too.” “You couldn’t possibly understand how I’m feeling.” Lady Sarnai dabbed her eyes, then said harshly, “Don’t tell me you fought in the war, that you were away from your home for years. I don’t care.” I wondered now if her coldness—that flat, emotionless face she wore whenever she came to the Hall of Supreme Diligence—was a mask. Lady Sarnai missed home. I could see it in the dark pools of her wet eyes. She was angry and sad that her father had sacrificed her to make peace with Emperor Khanujin. And if Longhai was right about her relationship with Lord Xina, she had even more reason to be miserable. “Lady Sarnai,” I began hesitantly, “I know it’s difficult for you here. But His Majesty is doing his best to make you happy. He’s a kind man, and—” “A kind man?” She laughed bitterly. “That enchanter has you all fooled.” I frowned. “He would make you happy,” I repeated. “If you only let him.” “What do you know about happiness?” she snapped. “You’re a man. Now that the war is over you can do what you want. You’ve proven yourself to A’landi. The world is open to you.”

“I’m … I’m a simple tailor.” “A tailor who’s been invited to sew for the emperor. A girl couldn’t do that. A girl isn’t fit to be anything more than a prize. My father promised he’d never force me to marry. He taught me to hunt and to fight like a man. I was just as good as all my brothers. And now?” Lady Sarnai wrung her hands. “He broke his promise to me. At first I thought it was because the war and magic had blackened his heart, but that is just the way of men. For what is a promise if it’s made to a woman?” Her words rang so true to me, I almost staggered back. “I made a promise to my … my sister,” I said, catching myself at the last moment. “That I would win this competition so she could have a better life. It isn’t one I intend to break.” “We’ll see about that.” Lady Sarnai straightened, gathering her poise. “Leave me.” I bowed and obeyed. I couldn’t say my encounter with Lady Sarnai made me like her any more than before. Yes, I had glimpsed a vulnerable side of her, but she was still the cold and heartless daughter of the shansen. Yet something had changed. Now I pitied her.

A CHAPTER ELEVEN fter my meeting with Lady Sarnai, I took care not to stray too far from the Hall of Supreme Diligence. I had a feeling she wouldn’t be so forgiving if I ran into her again. It was alone in the hall that Edan found me working on her jacket. The paper Minister Lorsa had given us was stiff, which was good for painting but cumbersome for the wide, flowing sleeves of my design. “What are you doing here?” I asked, looking up when Edan’s shadow blocked the early-morning light. “The emperor’s at his prayers. I thought I’d go for a walk.” “You’re here to check up on me, aren’t you?” I said, dipping my brush into the pot of gold paint. “Not just you,” Edan said. “On the others, too.” “They’re still sleeping.” I tilted my head at the empty wine gourds on Longhai’s table. “They were up late drinking, as usual.” I swirled my brush and held it to the side of the pot so the excess would drain off. Setting it to the jacket, I swiftly painted a set of leaves patterned on imperial brocade, an embossed fabric with golden weaving. Edan leaned over me. “You’re quite the artist,” he said approvingly. “Did your brother teach you to paint like this?” I frowned at him. “You never told me how you knew my brothers died in the war.” “It’s my business to know things,” he said. For a moment, he looked weary—the way Keton did whenever someone mentioned the war. It made me wonder if Edan had fought beside the emperor. I drew a ragged breath and turned back to my work, not wanting to expose my grief to Edan. “Shouldn’t you be following Lady Sarnai?” “Someone’s prickly today,” he said, folding his arms. His demeanor was serene and cool again. “You’ll be pleased know His Majesty has decided to supervise the contests from now on.” “Why would I be pleased?” I said, but my heart skipped a beat as I continued painting. I had often wished it were Emperor Khanujin I saw daily, instead of his Lord Enchanter. My sketchbook suddenly appeared in Edan’s hand, and he flipped through page after page of my drawings of Emperor Khanujin. Designs for his wardrobe, to be precise, but I’d taken care to draw his face on each. I jumped to my feet, horrified. “That’s mine! Where did you—Give that back!” “Drawing portraits of His Majesty in your spare time?” Edan said airily. “It doesn’t surprise me. Every girl in A’landi is besotted with our boy king.” My face burning, I snatched my sketchbook from him. “Boy king?” I huffed. “He’s older than you.” “He looks older than me,” Edan corrected. “And as you’ve said, looks are often deceiving.” I shoved my sketchbook into my pocket. “I’m not besotted with him.” Edan chuckled at me. “Just because you’re impersonating a man doesn’t make you one. I know very well you aren’t immune to the emperor’s charms.”

“You make Emperor Khanujin sound like he’s cast an enchantment,” I countered. “If he has, shouldn’t he work on charming Lady Sarnai?” I expected a snide retort from the Lord Enchanter, but Edan admitted, “Her resistance to him is strange. Everyone usually loves the emperor, at least when I’m around.” What an odd thing to say. He shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps Lady Sarnai has charms of her own.” I hesitated. “I heard you were unhappy about the falcons she shot.” Edan cocked an eyebrow. “So you’ve been talking about me?” he asked; then he laughed at my discomfort. “You’ll have to work on your habit of blushing, Master Tamarin.” “I wasn’t talking about you,” I said defensively. “Lady Sarnai brought it up.” “What else have you learned about me?” “Nothing. Except that you enjoy tormenting me.” “I’m helping you.” “I didn’t ask for your help.” “Not even with your little infatuation for Emperor Khanujin?” Edan’s eyes flickered, this time green as the leaves behind him. “Given how little love Lady Sarnai has for him, maybe he’ll take on some concubines.” He gave me a sly, sidelong glance. “I could put you at the top of the list if you’d like.” I flashed him my fiercest scowl. “I’m going to be the imperial tailor.” “Master Huan served His Majesty’s father for thirty years. Do you think you can stay here for as long without revealing what you really are?” I swallowed. Truthfully, I hadn’t thought about it, but I couldn’t tell Edan that. “Yes.” “Then you are very naïve.” “Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?” I huffed. “I’ve managed perfectly so far.” “You haven’t been here long,” Edan reminded me. “And,” he added smugly, “you’ve had help. If not for me, you’d be in a carriage on the way home by now. Or locked up in the dungeons.” I harrumphed, but the words made me press my brush to the jacket harder than I meant to. “I suppose if you stayed on, I could help with your disguise,” Edan mused. “I’m already helping you as it is.” “What exactly do you get out of this?” Edan found a coin in his pocket and tossed it with one hand. “Minister Lorsa and I made a bet.” He tilted his head back. “The winner gets a pig.” My brush sagged, drawing a line I hadn’t meant to. “You’re betting my future over a pig?” “Pigs are smarter than people give them credit for! Where I grew up, we almost worshipped them.” He sounded so serious I couldn’t tell if he was joking. “Besides, I don’t like Lorsa much. It would be fun to see him lose a pig.” He smiled. “I suggest you move your jacket away from the window. There’s a storm coming.” I looked up. “I see no rain clouds.” “If nothing else, you can trust an enchanter to tell the weather accurately.” “I’ll take my chances.” Edan made a face. “At the very least, move the jacket away from all that incense by Yindi’s station. You don’t want your work to smell like a prayer ritual.” “You’re a sacrilegious one,” I muttered. “What does it matter? Lady Sarnai never wears anything

we make her.” “She’s trying to amuse herself.” “The way you amuse yourself betting pigs on my future?” “Not quite. Though I’d win faster if you called upon those special scissors of yours.” I wrung my brush free of water. “I’ve buried them.” “Buried them?” He grinned, tossing the coin one last time. “How many times have I told you not to lie to an enchanter, Maia Tamarin?” “Master Tamarin. And I don’t need them.” “You’re used to being underestimated, so you want to prove yourself. Don’t let that be your crutch. Accept help when you need it.” “I will. Now would you please go?” He bowed, his black hair netting the sunlight as he bent. “As you wish, Master Tamarin.” He winked at me. “As you wish.” Much as I resented him, Edan was right about the weather. Soon after dusk, the clouds darkened. Thunder boomed, followed by streaks of lightning ripping across the sky. Rain pattered against the roof, and I quickly moved my jacket away from the windows and shut them. I prayed the paint would dry despite the humidity. I’d spent a small fortune on the color, a deep violet that was one of A’landi’s most prized exports on the Great Spice Road. “Where’s Norbu?” I asked Longhai. “His jacket’s not here.” “I haven’t seen him. Neither has Yindi.” Longhai took a swig from his gourd, a larger one than his previous—a “gift” from Norbu, I suspected. “Hope he’s not caught in the rain.” I didn’t have time to worry about Norbu. I set my jacket on my table and inspected it with a critical eye. Stiff enough to stand on its own, the jacket had rippling sleeves and an embroidered collar like in the Freverish courts, and tonight, I would twine strips of silk into its lace belt. Every detail was a marriage between one end of the Spice Road and the other. Not bad. Best of all, I’d made it by myself with no help from any special scissors. But think of what you could’ve done with the scissors, my inner voice nagged me. I ignored it. If Lady Sarnai discovered that I was using magic, I would be dismissed. Then again, if I lost the trial, I’d be sent home. There were four of us left now. Surely there’d be at least one more challenge before an imperial tailor was chosen? I worked late, long after Longhai and Yindi had gone to bed, and the warm rain tinkling down the roofs became a patter, then a mist. Since no one was here, I decided to try on my jacket to make sure the belt would hold the paper folds together. As I tied the belt about my waist, a black hawk with white-tipped wings cried out and circled in the night sky. “There it is again!” I peered out the window, but it’d already flown out of sight. I slipped outside to look for the bird. Shadows crawled over the palace grounds, and the round, red lanterns that lit the corridor beamed like glowing stars. In the distance I heard crickets chirping, and the soft rustle of the wind against the trees. The hawk was nowhere to be seen.

Disappointed, I suddenly became aware that I’d forgotten my cane and had worn my jacket out of the hall. I slipped it off, and as I turned back, a terrible sight made me gasp. Smoke. Not from the kitchens, but billowing out of the Hall of Supreme Diligence. The hall was on fire! I dropped my jacket and dashed for the nearest fire bell. “Fire! Fire!” Still shouting, I pulled open the doors. Flames danced near Yindi’s worktable. I saw his jacket hanging on one of the wooden screens, and Longhai’s stretched out on his table. They’d be ruined if I didn’t do something! Barreling inside was not the smartest thing to do, but I did it anyway, ignoring the pain from the pebble in my shoe and racing to rescue their jackets. I grabbed them and hurried toward the door. The ground smoldered under my feet, and the smoke was thick, searing my lungs and obscuring my eyes. Disoriented, I spun. I’d made sure to leave the door open when I entered, but now it was closed! I threw my body against it, but it wouldn’t budge. I pushed again, grunting and shouting, “Let me out!” I shouted, coughing into my sleeve. “Someone, anyone—help!” Flames licked the wooden stand on which one of the Three Sages stood. The wood beneath it creaked and snapped. Like bones breaking. The giant statue rumbled and toppled onto the ground. It rolled, faster and faster—toward me. Nowhere to run. I climbed onto a table and leapt for the lantern hanging above me. It swung, barely strong enough to hold my weight. I kicked up my dangling feet just as the Sage bowled beneath me into the fire. The lantern snapped, and I tumbled onto the table. Smoke filled my lungs. Coughing, I swerved toward the closest window—one that, Thank Amana, had no screens. I pushed the jackets out first, then squeezed my body through, but the pattern of the latticework caught at my hips. No, no, no. I wriggled. I panicked. So close. “Norbu?” I shouted, seeing a figure outside. “Norbu, is that you?” No answer. I sucked in my stomach and drove my hips through the window. With one last push, I rolled away from the hall, panting and struggling to catch my breath. Then I saw Norbu coming out of the shadows. “Norbu!” I shouted. “Thank Amana you’re—” Norbu stepped on my wrist, pinning my hand to the ground. Squirming, I kicked and cried, “Norbu, what are you—” I stopped. He was carrying one of the heavy metal pans we used for smoothing our fabrics. I tried to yank my wrist away, but he was too strong. Too quick. He raised the pan high, then brought it crashing down onto my hand. Pain shot up from the tips of my fingers and flooded my brain. I screamed, but Norbu’s other foot covered my mouth, muffling the sound before it pierced the commotion behind us. The last thing I saw was Norbu slipping out behind the hall. Then everything went black.

I CHAPTER TWELVE couldn’t move my hand. It felt like a pincushion, punctured by scorching needles from every side. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, and my heart beat so fast I could hardly breathe. I tried to scream, but my mouth was gagged. Something touched my broken hand, subduing the pain just enough for me to breathe. I blinked, my vision bleary. I was lying on a bench, with a pillow slightly elevating my head. Where was I? Not in my room. The smells here were crisper, an undertone of cinnamon and musk. The colors were a blur—splashes of periwinkle, an ocher wall, a tower of books with faded crimson spines. I shut my eyes, then opened them again. How did I get here? A voice. Male. Calm. “Ah, you’re awake.” Edan’s thin face focused into view. “Drink this.” He dribbled lukewarm tea over the cloth in my mouth. It filtered down my throat, warm, but not hot enough to burn. It was surprisingly sweet, the taste of the medicine masked by tangerine nectar and ginger. “I infused the tea with willow bark shavings,” Edan said. “That should help with the pain.” He untied the cord restraining my arm and lifted my hand. “Are you going to scream?” I blinked. No. “Now I warn you,” he said, releasing the gag, “I hate it when girls scream.” “I’m. Not. A. Girl,” I said between breaths. “I hate it even more when boys scream.” I tried to wiggle my fingers, but they wouldn’t move. A tide of panic set my heart racing again. “I can’t—” “Don’t worry,” Edan said. “Now, xitara, don’t get the wrong idea.” He brought my fingertips to his lips and blew on them. “What are you—” He set my hand down. “It should take a few minutes. It might feel a little odd. Best for you not to think about it.” “Think about what?” “The burns aren’t as bad as I feared,” he went on, ignoring me. “But the joints and muscles are in poor shape.” “Think about what?” I repeated. Then I felt it. A sharp twinge in the muscles of my hand. The twinge became a tingling—more painful than pleasurable, but the sensation was odd—as if my bones were reconstructing themselves. Sensation returned to me finger by finger, and blood rushed to my palm as the swelling went down, and my veins blued. I held my breath until it was over; then I gasped. “How did you—” Edan poured water liberally over my hand, washing away the blood and soothing the bruises. “Healing was never my gift, but I learned enough to be useful.”

I sat up. “I meant, how did you find me?” “Oh,” he said. “I heard you scream. Good thing you did. My hearing is very sensitive, you know.” I was barely listening. I wished he hadn’t taken away my gag. The pain in my hand spiked, and I wanted to scream again, but I wouldn’t—not in front of Edan. So I clenched my teeth together and clamped my lips closed. Slowly, the bruises faded before my eyes, the ones over my knuckles taking longest to disappear. I watched, so mesmerized that I almost forgot the pain. “There,” Edan announced. “Good as new. Almost, anyway.” I stared at my hand. “No ‘thank you’?” said Edan mildly. “Thank you,” I breathed, flipping my hand back and forth. Even my calluses were gone. It would be a nuisance developing new ones, but better than having a broken hand. “Thank you.” “Hmph,” Edan said. Brusquely, he took my hand and studied it. “Not bad. Healing works best directly after the injury is sustained, you see. Once the blood and bones settle in the wrong place, it’s difficult to convince them to return.” “What does that mean?” “It means enchantments are usually only temporary. Which is why I’ll have to watch over your hand very carefully.” I cleared my throat, suddenly made uncomfortable by Edan’s attention, and put on my most businesslike voice. “I want to repay you for healing me. I don’t have much money, but—” He let out a short laugh. “Save your jens. Enchanters have little need for money, or anything else. I don’t need any payment.” “What about help mending?” I persisted. I gestured at his clothes. “Or a new garment that’s a bit more colorful than the black you always wear.” “A new cloak could be tempting,” he mused. “Though, come to think of it, a favor from you might prove useful one day, especially given you’ve those scissors. I’ll think on it, Maia Tamarin. Thank you.” His long fingers brushed the back of my injured hand, wrapping bandages over me. My stomach swooped from the intimacy of it, and when he was done, I drew my hand back. “Thank you,” I said quietly. Edan merely smiled. For the first time, I wished he would keep talking. This silence felt heavy, awkward. “Finish your tea.” I hesitated. “Toads and turds, girl, it’s not poison. Drink the whole thing.” I gulped down the rest of the tea and wiped my mouth on my sleeve. “When will I be able to sew again?” Edan sat on the stool beside me. “You should be fine in a few days. Take it easy for now.” “Can’t.” I flexed my fingers. My bones and muscles were in place, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. “I need to win.” “And why do you need to win so badly?” Edan asked. “For my family,” I said. “Times have been hard.” “Ah, so it’s not for yourself?” “A little for myself, too,” I admitted.

“If you’re worried about the pain, you do have magic scissors.” I frowned. “I want to win without magic.” “I don’t see why that’s so important to you,” said Edan. “It isn’t fair to the others,” I replied. “Or to me. I didn’t spend years learning to be a tailor so I could have my work done for me by magic.” “Don’t be foolish. If it makes you feel better, Norbu is working magic too.” “What?” The muscles in my throat tightened. “How?” “You’ll find everyone in high places uses a smidgeon of magic every now and then. Even Emperor Khanujin’s head chef. Most delectable duck you’ll ever taste.” Edan smacked his lips. “Don’t close your fist. It’ll leave scars.” I opened up my hand again. I wished he would take a step back. He was too close. I set aside my cup. “That didn’t answer my question.” “Didn’t it?” His playful eyes flickered blue—blue as the ocean in Port Kamalan. Deep and clear. Edan watched me, expectantly awaiting my reply. I flushed and pretended to clutch my head. “What did you give me?” “It’s mostly something to numb the pain.” “Mostly?” I repeated. With a grin, he leaned back, watching my face ease as the pain subsided, minute by minute. Then he picked up my cup, studying the leaves inside. “Is Maia your birth name?” “It is.” “I’m not sure it suits you.” I twisted my lips tightly. “It means obedient.” He set down the cup. “Which is why I said I’m not sure it suits you,” he said. “You have a remarkable journey ahead of you, Maia. I can see it in your tea leaves.” As usual, it was difficult for me to tell whether Edan was playing with me. “I need to get back,” I said thickly. “There’s only one more day for this challenge, and given the fire …” The truth was I didn’t want to stay in Edan’s chambers any longer. I was growing all too aware of the mysterious heat rising to my neck. “Anxious about your jacket?” Edan said. “Your scissors would finish the job in an hour.” I peeled myself off the chair, stretching my legs over an expensive-looking carpet. “Will you stop badgering me about the scissors? I don’t want to use them.” Edan laughed and clapped at me. “I have to say, being a boy suits you.” I opened my mouth, then closed it. He was right, I realized. As a girl, I would never have talked back to the Lord Enchanter. Would I? Or was it Edan who brought out this boldness in me? I suspected he provoked me on purpose. That he enjoyed it. “Your skill is greater than the magic in the scissors,” Edan said. Something about his expression softened, as if he respected my decision. “But if you want to win for your family, you’ll need the scissors. If you want to win against Norbu, you’ll need the scissors.” “How does he use magic?” Edan stifled a yawn. “Don’t worry about that for now.” “How can I not?” I said, wincing as I tried to curl my newly healed fingers. Now that the fogginess in my head was clearing, I couldn’t stop thinking about how calmly Norbu had broken my hand. As if he’d done such a thing before.

I glanced about me, only now noticing my surroundings. Books everywhere, neatly ordered on their shelves, and scrolls that were labeled and tied with different-colored cords. Pockets of dried herbs and jasmine to mask the faint smell of incense that wafted in from outside. There was also a dagger with a silvery sheath, a thin wooden flute, and a painted horse figurine that looked like a child’s toy. I reached out with my good hand for one of the books. “Is this your room?” “Yes, while I’m here.” Edan yawned. “Stop being nosy, now. You should sleep.” “I’m not tired.” “Well, I am. Sleep. It’ll help your hand recover.” I started to protest, but he touched my forehead, and the world folded into darkness. Norbu was not pleased to see me back in the Hall of Supreme Diligence, but he hid it well enough. He was there with the others, cleaning up the mess from the fire. His table had been burned, but he didn’t look half as troubled as Longhai and Yindi—both had dark shadows under their eyes. “Back so soon from the infirmary?” Norbu said coolly. “We worried you’d died.” He glanced at my hand and noted the missing cane. “A broken hand to go with your broken leg?” “You’re the one who broke it,” I retorted, appalled by the man’s audacity. “Me?” Norbu scoffed. “I was asleep in my bed the entire time. Ask the others.” “I saw you,” I hissed. “You broke my hand.” “You’ve a vivid imagination, young Tamarin.” He laughed, but I’d heard the edge in his tone as he discredited me. “Come, let me walk you to your stat—” I pushed his hand away and started for my table. Behind Norbu, Longhai passed me a sympathetic look, but he didn’t speak up. I couldn’t blame him. Norbu was a famous tailor and a powerful man; I was no one. No one except Edan would believe that he’d broken my hand. Still, now I knew Norbu was using magic. It didn’t give me power over him, but it made me determined to beat him. Norbu called after me, “I take it you are ambidextrous.” I ignored him, sifting through the remains of my station. A fallen Sage had smashed my wooden screen, but my loom was intact. My embroidery frame was ruined. I bent to retrieve my cane. The fire had singed its wood, but it was still usable. Leaning on its familiar support, I picked up one of my spools, still warm to the touch. Edan had said it would take time for my hand to heal, but even holding a spool of thread was painful. Using my good hand, I bundled together the few things that had survived. “Longhai and Yindi found their jackets outside,” Norbu said. He’d followed me, of course. “And yours. Some good soul must have tried to save them.” “It’s a good thing you put your jacket aside, Norbu,” I said through my teeth. “Otherwise, all your hard work might have been ruined in the fire.” “The gods watch over me,” Norbu said, pressing his hands together. “I am very grateful.” I snorted loudly enough for him to hear. “You sabotaged us.” Norbu straightened, looking shocked. “Excuse me?” “You started the fire,” I said. “I heard you outside—”

“I think it more likely you started the fire, Master Tamarin,” Norbu interrupted. “You were the only one working late, after all. And your jacket is practically unscathed.” “Me?” I nearly shouted. “You—” Longhai touched my shoulder and shook his head. “First you accuse me of breaking your hand, now of starting the fire.” Norbu sighed. “I know you must be angry, young Tamarin, but that does not give you the right to slander my name. I will forgive you this time, since the night has taken its toll on everyone.” He paused. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to work.” With that, he left me alone with Yindi and Longhai. “I’m sorry,” I said, drawing a sharp breath when I saw how badly burnt their jackets were. My efforts to save them had been in vain. “I tried to—” I stopped, startled by the sound of Yindi angrily tearing his jacket in half. Longhai barely flinched. Defeat stung his eyes. “Don’t,” I said, putting my hands over Longhai’s jacket before he, too, gave up. “You still have half the night.” “I know when to bow out gracefully,” he replied. “It’s something you learn with age.” “Norbu started the fire,” I whispered. “I know it. You can’t let him win.” Longhai’s wide shoulders fell. “I already knew it was him.” My brows furrowed. “How?” “His clothes reeked of smoke even though he said he’d been nowhere near,” Longhai said. He swept a pile of ash with his foot. “How did you know?” I thought about the hawk’s piercing cry—how it had sounded like a warning. But who would believe me if I told them that? I coughed from the smoke, covering my mouth with my sleeve. “I’d gone out to get fresh air, then I saw the smoke. I rushed in to get our jackets … then I saw Norbu just outside the hall.” “I’m going to resign. Yindi will too.” Longhai eyed my bandaged hand. “And you should as well.” “You can’t give up without trying,” I implored him. “Maybe Emperor Khanujin will postpone the trial. You can’t let Norbu win.” “Norbu is a man with two faces,” Longhai said. “I thought he had changed, but he is as ruthless as before. Do you know how Master Huan died, Keton?” I shook my head. “The servants found him drowned in the river just outside Niyan. Everyone assumed he fell into the river because he was drunk.” He hesitated, and the grooves on his face deepened. “But I knew Master Huan. He never drank, not while he was the imperial tailor. He was poisoned.” I caught my breath. “How?” “I don’t know,” Longhai said. “But Norbu was the last man seen with him.” He sighed, and I realized I had misjudged his friendship with Norbu. “I’ve been trying to get it out of him the past few weeks, but the sly dog won’t talk.” He turned to me. “You’ll learn that certain things aren’t worth the trouble. I have my business and my family, and I will not risk my reputation for the sake of any contest. And you—you are young. Come with me and become my apprentice. You could make a good name for yourself. But you’ll have no future if Norbu does that to your hand again.” His offer was tempting, but I hung back.

“I’m staying,” I said firmly. “I can’t let him win.” “Then Amana be with you.” He gripped my shoulder. “May the Sages give you the strength to win.” Yindi had been quiet throughout our exchange, but now he walked up to us. His eyes were wide and wild. “The fire is a sign from the gods to leave. Nothing good will come of this wedding.” “Norbu made that fire, you fool,” said Longhai. “And Norbu has played us all.” “No,” Yindi said. “The shansen is playing us all. There are demon forces behind him. And once he brings them to A’landi, it will be too late.” “You’ve been listening to too many soldiers talk.” “Why do you say the shansen has demons?” I asked. “Doesn’t he hate magic, like his daughter?” “Lies.” Yindi sniffed. “How can he hate what gives him power? Once the shansen places his daughter on the throne, he will have the emperor killed, just as he had his father and brother murdered by demons. Then he will steal his Lord Enchanter for himself. Just you wait and see.” A chill swept over me, but Longhai dismissed Yindi’s warning. “Enough of this,” he said. “You are upset. We all are. But the palace has eyes and ears, and you are ranting like a mad fool. Leave now with dignity.” Yindi glared at him, and at me. “Just you wait and see,” he repeated, directing the warning at me. Then he left without another word. Longhai lingered, his round, jolly face the gravest I’d ever seen it. “Good luck to you, Master Tamarin. May you have all the prosperity and happiness that you deserve. Look for me if you’re ever in Bansai.” I bowed my head. Then Longhai, too, was gone. Turning to the empty hall, I gathered my jacket and what was left of my materials. I had only a few precious hours before Lady Sarnai would appear with Emperor Khanujin to judge our creations. It had always been Norbu. I saw that now. Norbu who had ruined my shawl, Norbu who’d taken the other tailors out drinking so they couldn’t work as hard, Norbu who had started the fire and locked me in the hall. Norbu who had broken my hand. If not for Edan’s help, Norbu would have won the trial. Gods help me, as long as I could sew, that was not going to happen.

A CHAPTER THIRTEEN s soon as I saw Norbu’s jacket, I knew I had no chance. It was magnificent. Sleeveless and daring. The collar was made of snow-white swan feathers, and the skirt rippled with pearls and ermine trimming fit for an empress. Even Lady Sarnai was impressed. She showed little sign of emotion at the news that the Hall of Supreme Diligence had burned, forcing two tailors to resign. But when she saw Norbu’s jacket, she actually smiled. My heart sank. My only ally, Edan, wasn’t here. Only now did I realize how much I relied on his presence at these challenges. I’d worked all night after Longhai and Yindi left, but because of my hand I’d had to forgo many of the details to finish in time. I’d planned to add lace to the neckline and sleeves and sew golden buttons to match the gilded leaves I’d painstakingly drawn over the violet paint to make the paper look like brocade. Now, seeing Norbu’s feathers and pearls and fur, I realized my design was far too plain. Lady Sarnai fluttered her fan, pretending to think. I simmered with agitation as I waited. I already knew whom she would choose, even though I couldn’t bear to hear the words. “Master Norbu’s jacket is the superior one in this challenge,” she finally said, confirming my fears. Lorsa started for me, but Lady Sarnai raised her fan. “However, given the fire, another challenge may be necessary for me to make a proper decision.” I stole a glance at Emperor Khanujin, certain he’d be furious with the shansen’s daughter for trying again to postpone the wedding. To my surprise, he nodded. “Very well. There will be one final challenge. But I will deliver it.” Lady Sarnai’s eyes narrowed. “Your Majesty, you left the selection of the tailor to me, did you not?” “I did,” replied Emperor Khanujin, “but paper jackets and glass shoes are not indicative of either tailor’s true talent.” He waited, as if daring Lady Sarnai to object. When she didn’t, he addressed Norbu and me: “No rules this time. Simply craft something for Lady Sarnai to the best of your ability. Something meaningful to you, that captures her beauty. Have it ready in a week’s time.” I bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty.” Norbu echoed my words, smiling. For the first time in my life I wanted to spit at someone. If only the emperor hadn’t been around, I really might have. “What shall we do with the jackets?” Minister Lorsa asked once Emperor Khanujin had left. “Ask Master Norbu,” Lady Sarnai said. Norbu bared his teeth, his smile widening. “It would greatly honor me if mine was burned at the temple.” “Very well,” Lady Sarnai said. “Since the emperor is so dedicated to visiting the temple and praying to his heavenly ancestors, I’m sure they will welcome the gift.”

Bile rose in my throat. Edan had to be right about Norbu using magic; no tailor in his right mind would offer to destroy such a jacket unless he had something to hide. Much as it pained me, I bowed. “Please burn mine, too, Your Highness.” My voice nearly came out as a whisper. All my hard work, burned! And to think I’d risked my life to save this jacket from the fire. I couldn’t bear the irony of it. I watched the servants take away my jacket, and after Lady Sarnai exited the room, Lorsa approached me. His tone was dismissive, as if I’d already lost. “Her Highness wishes you to take her measurements. Meet her in the Orchid Pavilion.” Now? Dread unfolded in the pit of my stomach, but I nodded. The Orchid Pavilion was in the heart of the Summer Palace, surrounded by shady willow trees, a medley of birds in gilded cages, a spectacular garden, and a courtyard of royal apartments where the shansen’s daughter resided. I was sweating by the time I reached it. Lady Sarnai’s head maid cast me a disapproving look. “You’re late,” she said. “Her Highness hates it when her visitors are late.” Late? I had come as soon as Lorsa told me. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. The head maid thrust a handkerchief in front of my face, and I dabbed my sweat with it. Then the doors, tended by a guard on each side, slid open. Lady Sarnai’s chambers were the grandest I’d seen yet. A rosewood table accompanied every silkcushioned chair, and a square table in the front overflowed with ivory gambling tiles and handpainted cards. In the corner were trunks that I imagined must be filled with gifts from His Majesty: the finest silks, jade combs, pearl hairpieces, bronze cosmetic boxes, and sashes in every color. Lady Sarnai was waiting for me by the largest window, seated before an embroidery frame. I couldn’t see her work from where I stood, but she seemed skilled with the needle—more skilled than I’d expected from a lady of her rank. “Come closer,” she said. “You cannot take my measurements standing at the door.” I also couldn’t take her measurements when she was fully clothed, but I said nothing about this. Lady Sarnai stood so a maid could remove her outer robe, and I unrolled my marked string. As Edan had noticed, Lady Sarnai’s proportions were not so different from my own. Knowing the maids watched me closely, I took her measurements, noting her girth and height but averting my eyes from her bare neck and arms. One misconstrued glance was all it would take to send me into the dungeons. How terrible it would be if I, a girl, were jailed for staring lewdly at Lady Sarnai! But not looking made my task difficult, and when my fingers brushed against the lady’s arm as I measured for sleeve length, she spoke: “You’ve a gentle touch for a man, Master Tamarin.” I immediately panicked and bowed, as if the comment were a death sentence. “I’m … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” “Relax. For one so timid, you’re curiously on edge.” I bit my lip. “This trial means much to my family, Your Highness.”

“Ah,” she said. “You have considerable skill for one so young, Master Tamarin. I would say the gods must smile on you, but I noticed no shrine or amulets for luck on your table. Are you not superstitious?” “I believe in hard work, Your Highness. Hard work and honesty.” She laughed at that. “I see they’ve forgotten demon lore in the South, but one does not grow up in the North without being wary. All the beasts in the northern forests and jungles are said to be part demon.” She smiled tightly. “I would know. My own father sought to unleash their powers on Emperor Khanujin, but … one does not bargain with demons without paying a steep price.” I bowed my head, hoping it would hide my stricken face. Why was she telling me this? I stared at my feet and prayed for dismissal, but Lady Sarnai let the silence linger before noticing the stiffness in my fingers. “What is wrong with your hand?” “I … I was hurt in the fire.” “Pity. I hope it won’t interfere with your sewing.” “It won’t.” I stepped to the side and stole a glance at Lady Sarnai’s embroidery. It was only half finished, but I recognized the shape of a tiger—the shansen’s emblem. I flipped my gaze back to the lady before she noticed. She fluttered her fan at her neck. “I don’t know much about you, Master Tamarin. I was given reports on all the tailors, but the one on you—and your father—was lacking.” She closed the fan. “You are obviously talented. Why have you not tried to make more of a name for yourself?” “A’landi was at war, Your Highness,” I said tightly. “I was called to battle.” “In the Five Winters War?” I finished my measurements, rolled up my string. “Yes.” “Your two older brothers were killed in battle. Minister Lorsa mentioned this to me.” I said nothing. I had no idea why she wanted to keep me here, asking me questions she already knew the answers to. “You must hate my father for taking them away,” Lady Sarnai said. “And Emperor Khanujin for sending you to war at such a young age.” “It was my duty to serve in the war. I hold no anger toward the shansen—or Emperor Khanujin.” “Then you are a good man. Far better than most.” Lady Sarnai closed her fan and waved for her maids to leave. “I’ve found that most men say one thing but mean another.” She peered at me. “But you don’t lie, Master Tamarin. You hide instead. You have a secret, I sense.” I was beginning to feel more and more ill at ease. “Your Highness, if there’s nothing else—” “Keep it,” Lady Sarnai interjected. “I’m not interested in your secrets. The Lord Enchanter’s, however … they interest me very much. And it interests me that he’s noticed you.” “Only out of boredom,” I said curtly. It was the truth—Edan had told me as much. “I doubt he takes a real interest in anyone.” “He is a disagreeable man,” Lady Sarnai conceded. “I wonder if you’ll do something for me …” She waited for me to nod. “I noticed you staring at my needlework when you entered.” “Your work is very fine,” I said honestly. “The Northern style is the one I’m least familiar with. I could not help but be curious.” “You should take a closer look,” said Lady Sarnai, gesturing at her work. “Tell me what your keen eyes see.” I walked over to her frame, dreading that I’d find some secret message embroidered into the scene

and be blackmailed for knowing she was betraying Emperor Khanujin. But her work was simply a scene of three animals. The simplicity and boldness of her patterns surprised me. The Northern style had never been considered one of A’landi’s great schools of embroidery, which were all inclined toward more intricate and layered designs. “Describe it for me.” “A tiger,” I said aloud. “That is your father. And a dragon—Emperor Khanujin.” There were also the beginnings of a bird; it flew over them, its talons clutching a pearl that both the tiger and the dragon were reaching for. “You look confused,” said Lady Sarnai. “The pearl represents A’landi, and the bird is causing a rift between the tiger and dragon, you see. Just as magic creates a rift between the North and South.” She leaned forward. “You Southerners and I may have our differences, but we are pious people. The presence of magic in A’landi is unnatural. It brings strife between the emperor and my father.” I remembered Yindi’s warning about the shansen. “But not all magic is the work of demons, is it, Your Highness? Not all of it is bad?” A dark look passed over Lady Sarnai’s face, and I wondered what she had seen with her father. “Magic is the root of all that is wicked in this world. And enchanters are at the center of it. After all, what are demons but enchanters who have fallen from grace?” She scoffed. “I wouldn’t expect a country boy such as you to understand.” I lowered my head. “Yes, Your Highness.” “My father never trusted Emperor Khanujin,” she said, “but he never told me why. Never told me why he started the war in the first place.” She pursed her lips, and I thought I read sadness in her dark eyes. It was hard to think of her—a highborn lady—as a prisoner. “I remember meeting Khanujin once, when we were children. He was a sickly boy, especially when compared to his older brother—the heir. His skin was yellow as sand, and he could barely mount a horse. But look at him now. So …” She didn’t choose a word, and I didn’t dare offer the one I was thinking: magnificent. Lady Sarnai paused, as if waiting for my reaction. But for the life of me, I could not fathom what point she was trying to make. What must it have been like for her, to go from a princess of A’landi to the daughter of a traitor? For centuries, a shansen was chosen from her family to serve as A’landi’s military leader and protect the country from its hostile Northern neighbors. But when Khanujin’s father and brother died, the current shansen refused to pledge allegiance to Khanujin. And so the Five Winters War began. It hurt to remember a time when my country was whole, and my family was whole. Even now, with the truce, no one knew why the shansen would not serve Khanujin. But Lady Sarnai suggested it had something to do with magic. “I’d like you to get to know Edan better,” Lady Sarnai finally went on. “Find out his weaknesses, his strengths. Find out what binds him to Emperor Khanujin. What is the source of his loyalty?” I took a step back. “I … I doubt he would tell me.” “He is a fickle creature,” Lady Sarnai agreed, “but I have a feeling he would open up to you. You’re not a bad-looking boy, and the Lord Enchanter must be lonely.” I must have looked horrified, for Lady Sarnai laughed. She pressed her fingers together. “You have done well in the trial, Master Tamarin, but Master Norbu has done better. Prove to me that you can be useful, and I may be persuaded to look more favorably upon you.”

“Your Highness,” I said, “I was under the impression that the trial was a matter of skill.” “It is a matter of skill,” Lady Sarnai said, opening her fan. It was the most beautiful one I had seen yet. The flowers were hand-painted with such tiny details that it must have taken the artist months to complete. “But craftsmanship is a luxury of peace,” Lady Sarnai said, tipping the fan toward a candle’s flame. “Artisans such as you are soldiers in times of war. Do not forget that.” “How could I?” I whispered, my heart aching as I watched the hungry flames lick at Lady Sarnai’s fan. “I grew up learning the hardships of war.” “Quite so.” She tossed the burning fan into a bronze incense pot. I had to grip my legs to keep from reaching out to save the fan. I watched its long wooden handle crackle in the flames, and the silk painting blister and burn, melting until it was no more than an ember. “War comes at a great cost,” Lady Sarnai said, “and from that sacrifice comes peace. Sometimes we must let go of what we value for the future of our country. Be it a beautiful fan, or our honor, or our lives. In the end, we all belong to the gods anyway.” Her tone darkened, and I pondered what had crossed her mind—if she was regretting her promise to marry Emperor Khanujin. “I need a tailor who can be a soldier for me when I need one, as well as a craftsman,” she said. “Can you do this for me? Can you prove that you will be useful in times of war and peace?” “Yes, Your Highness,” I said rigidly. “I can.” “Good. I look forward to seeing what you create for me, Master Tamarin.” I bowed, and, without turning my back on Lady Sarnai, I shuffled out of the room. On my way out, I wondered whether my meeting with her had been a test of sorts. And whether I had passed— Or failed miserably.

W CHAPTER FOURTEEN hile the Hall of Supreme Diligence was being rebuilt, Norbu and I were assigned new work places not far from Lady Sarnai’s apartments. But I couldn’t go there now. I needed to disappear from her watchful eyes. So I planted myself in the courtyard near my quarters, taking comfort in a letter from Baba. It was short, and he didn’t mention Keton, but his words at the end were enough to make my heart burst. The emperor’s trial will be hard on you, but know that no matter whether you are chosen to stay or must come home, you are already the best tailor in A’landi to me. You’ve seized the wind, as I always knew you would. I held the letter to my heart. “Seize the wind,” I whispered. “Don’t become the kite that never flies.” Those were Finlei’s words. How often he used to say them to me. I regretted not being as close to him as Sendo. Finlei had always been the most protective of my brothers, yet also the one who’d urge me to leave Baba’s shop. “You can’t be the best tailor in the world if all you do is sew,” he’d say. “Come, let’s go on an adventure to free that imagination of yours.” I could count on one hand how many times I’d taken him up on the offer. What a stubborn girl I’d been back then. I wouldn’t hesitate now. “I’m not in Baba’s shop anymore, brother,” I whispered. I hoped, wherever Finlei was, he’d be proud of me for that. Carefully, I folded up Baba’s letter. Reading it had fired my determination anew, and I reached for my sketchbook to begin a new design for the final challenge. I couldn’t be sent home, not when Emperor Khanujin had given me another chance. I was so close. This final garment needed to be amazing—worthy of the gods. But it was impossible to concentrate when my conscience pricked me every other minute about Lady Sarnai’s order. I didn’t want to spy on Edan! But you should, if you really want to win. Disgusted with myself, I scratched out my design and crumpled the page. Then crumpled another, and another. And another. I let out a grunt of frustration. “I heard Khanujin’s given you a second chance.” I whirled around to face the intruder. For once, I wasn’t surprised to see him. In fact, I was almost relieved. “Where have you been?” “Asleep,” Edan said. “Healing twenty-odd crushed bones is hard work, even for me.” He took my hand, and I instantly stiffened. “Relax,” he said, bringing my hand closer to his face for inspection. “It’s healing nicely, but it’s only been a few days. You need to rest more.”

I pulled my hand back. “How can I rest when I have another challenge? I almost lost.” Edan cleared his throat. “The emperor did a fine job of extending the trial. Very noble of him, though I wouldn’t have expected anything less.” I caught the slightest tinge of sarcasm in Edan’s voice. “He said you remind him a little of himself.” I turned back to my work, but curiosity bade me ask, “How so?” “A young man trying hard to succeed. No one ever expected Khanujin to become king, you know. He had to learn much in a short time. Just like you … he didn’t want to dismiss you just yet.” When I didn’t respond, Edan shielded his face from the sun and said, “Do you always work outside?” “Only to sketch. I find it inspiring.” He looked over my shoulder at my drawing. “A water-themed dress?” “It’s inspired by home.” I sighed. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Norbu is going to win.” “Oh?” Edan feigned ignorance. “Because his designs are best?” A needle of envy pricked me. “Yes. He’s a master tailor. The greatest in A’landi.” “He is a master tailor,” Edan allowed, “but so are you. Given a month on each of these challenges, I’m sure you both could work miracles. But not in a week. Not without help, anyway.” He exhaled. “Don’t you remember what I told you?” “You said Norbu is using magic. But how?” “Norbu has paint that creates illusions,” Edan revealed. “Very elementary stuff. It only lasts a few hours. A day or two at most. Until now, he’s been careful to survive each challenge, not to win.” It made sense now. That was why Norbu never had anything to show until the day of the challenge. Why he was always so secretive about his work. Why he’d wanted his jacket burned. “Magic is a wild, untamed energy that exists all around us,” Edan explained, “and certain people are more sensitive to it than others. We enchanters wear talismans that allow us to channel it, and on rare occasions, we enchant everyday objects, such as your scissors, to help us with our work, or to enable others temporary access to magic.” My brows knitted in confusion. Edan wore no rings or amulets, as Emperor Khanujin did. “I don’t see a talisman on you.” “The answer to that would give you too much power over me,” Edan said with a smile. “Now, don’t scrunch up your face like that. You’ll get wrinkles.” He waited until I let go of my frown. “I would need no magic paint to create an illusion, whereas an ordinary person such as Norbu would. He’d have to give something up, say a thimble or two of blood, every time he wants to use it. Must have cost him a fortune to obtain.” “How come no one else can tell that his designs are illusions?” “Oh, he’s a fine tailor on his own, so he uses magic sparingly. But I can see it well enough, and borrowed magic can always be undone.” Edan tapped his chin with his knuckles, looking pensive. “I suspect you could expose him with a bucket of water—since he’s using paint, after all.” “I’ve used magic too,” I reminded him quietly. It made me uncomfortable to remember. “So you have.” He leaned close. “But your scissors aren’t borrowed magic.” “What do you mean?” “You didn’t pay in blood.” A dimple formed on the left corner of his mouth. “That means a little bit of magic sings in you.” I didn’t know where my grandmother’s scissors came from, or whether Baba had known they were magic. “It’s so easy,” I whispered. “Using the scissors … the work looks like mine. But it isn’t. Not

really. I don’t know if I should feel proud or ashamed or—” The dimple disappeared. “Feel lucky,” said Edan. “Your scissors chose to speak to you. It is a gift, one you may need.” His voice turned soft. “One that can go away if you are no longer worthy of its power.” The sadness in Edan’s words struck a chord in me and made me wonder if he thought of his own magic as a gift. Why had I ever distrusted him? He’d always been my ally here in the palace. He’d always believed in me. And Lady Sarnai had asked me to betray him. “You’re quiet,” Edan noted. “Does what I say bother you?” “No, it’s not that.” I shifted my stance. The pebble in my shoe hurt more than ever. “Then something else?” His roguish smile returned, a shade more somber than usual, but I could tell he was trying to lighten the mood. “Shall I coax the truth out of you? Perhaps a serum would help —” I couldn’t take it anymore. “Lady Sarnai asked me to spy on you,” I blurted. A beat. Then, curse him, he burst out laughing. “What’s so funny?” I put my hands on my hips. “You don’t believe me?” “When did she ask this of you?” Edan said between laughs. Already I was regretting my decision to tell him. “This morning.” “Then she’s even more of a fool than I suspected.” “Why is that? She has good reason to distrust you.” “She does,” he agreed. “But you? You’d be worst spy in the world, Maia Tamarin, given your complete inability to tell a lie.” Still bemused, he said, “Why’d you decide to tell me? Dare I believe you’ve finally softened toward me?” I flashed him my most irritated scowl. Edan had a way of making my temper flare. “My loyalty is to the emperor. You are his loyal servant. That’s why I told you.” “And here I thought it was because of our growing friendship, and my affection for you.” I muttered, “I liked you better when I thought you were a eunuch.” Edan looked half offended, half amused. “You thought I was a eunuch?” “A tall one,” I said, turning up my nose. “And one who dressed far above his station.” “I’m far too good-looking to be a eunuch,” Edan protested. “I would disagree. Some are quite handsome, and you …” I searched for the right insult. “Emperor Khanujin’s better-looking than you.” The quirk that tugged at his lips was completely unreadable to me. I couldn’t tell whether I’d stung him—or amused him. “Is it true that the shansen called upon demons to murder the emperor’s father?” The quirk in Edan’s lips vanished. “Who told you that?” “Lady Sarnai. She said her father had to pay a steep price for dealing with demons.” “It’s true the shansen has dealt with demons,” said Edan carefully. “Whether he called upon them to kill Khanujin’s family is a different story. But it’s strange that you should hear it from Lady Sarnai.” “I think she despises her father for using magic. And you, for being an enchanter.” “She despises everyone,” Edan said, more cheerfully. I frowned at how casually he took my news. “She told me demons are fallen enchanters.” “Are you worried about me now, Maia?” Edan laughed. “There’s nothing to fear. I’m in no danger

of becoming a demon, I can assure you. And I’m far more powerful than any demon the shansen could recruit.” For once, I took heart in his arrogance. I wanted to believe him, so I did. “Be careful, Maia,” he said quietly. The sudden change in his tone startled me. “Lady Sarnai will know you’ve betrayed her trust. I’d care if something happened to you.” I didn’t like how tongue-tied I suddenly became. I raised a brow and echoed, “You’d care?” Edan drew back. “Yes,” he said, airily now. “Girl or not, you’re a very talented tailor. And you have some aptitude for magic. Enough that I feel somewhat responsible for you.” I rolled my eyes. “You know, she reminds me of you.” Edan frowned, as if I’d mortally insulted him. “What do you mean by that?” “Both of you enjoy mocking others. She uses this trial as a way of insulting Emperor Khanujin, and you—you enjoy—” “I do not mock the emperor,” said Edan. “Ever.” You mock me, I thought. “If Lady Sarnai and I have anything in common, it’s that we have little say in our futures. She uses her frustration to undermine the betrothal, and I use my boredom to study.” “Study what?” His sharp eyes focused on me. “People who interest me.” “You don’t seem like someone who would be interested in a sewing contest.” “I wasn’t,” he said, “until I saw those scissors of yours.” I already knew what he was going to say. “I won’t use them, Edan—” “It isn’t cheating.” “—Lady Sarnai hates magic.” “Given the choice between two tailors using magic, she should choose the one who uses it better. Your scissors reflect your skill; Norbu’s paint doesn’t. And you’re not here for the same reason as the others. Longhai, Norbu, Yindi—they’ve sought the position for glory. You—you want to restore honor to your family’s name. And I suppose you want to prove to yourself that you can be as good as any man.” I did. Though I lacked the courage to say it aloud. “But thank you for warning me about Lady Sarnai,” Edan said. “I appreciate it.” His sincerity took me slightly aback. “Don’t presume that I did it because we’re friends.” “Enchanters don’t have friends,” Edan said, clearing his throat. I got the sense he’d revealed something he hadn’t wanted to. “Good night, Mistress Tamarin.” “Master,” I called after him. He was going to be the doom of me one day. I just knew it. The door to my room should not have been ajar. I was always careful to close it, especially since I was not privileged enough to have a lock. I pushed my way inside, heart pounding. Something was wrong. The few possessions I’d brought with me were flung carelessly over my bed, my sketches, the letter I’d received from home, and Baba’s scissors among them. I almost wished the intruder were a

thief, but the reality was much worse. Norbu. “Get out,” I told him coldly. He gave me a false, cheerful smile. “And why would I want to do that?” he taunted. “A pity you didn’t burn in the hall. How is that hand of yours, by the way? Did the Lord Enchanter heal it for you?” He brushed his fingers across my pillow. “How did you repay him for his services?” It was all I could do not to punch him. “Get out.” Norbu didn’t move. “Do you know the price for lying to the emperor?” he said slowly, as if reveling in each word. “Your bones would be picked apart one by one, your eyes clawed out by ravens while you’re alive.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His smile widened. “You run well for someone with a lame leg, young Tamarin, given your injuries from the war.” My breath caught in my throat. “I don’t—” “Something about you has always seemed off, but I couldn’t figure out what,” Norbu interrupted. “I never heard of Old Master Tamarin having a son with such skill as yours. So I made some inquiries. Your father lost two sons to the Five Winters War. Only a crippled son survived. No one could tell me about his skill with the needle, so I left it at that … until our encounter the other night. I spied you running across the hall, and it gave me pause. The pieces didn’t come together immediately, but then I learned from Minister Lorsa that Old Tamarin had another child—” He held up one of my linen chest strips. “A daughter who just happened to work as his seamstress.” My knees weakened. I wanted to accuse him of lying, but my tongue had turned to lead. Norbu laughed. “You sew better than most girls. That is the best compliment I’ll give you. Concede the trial, and I won’t say a word to His Majesty about who you really are.” “Why?” I spat. “Are you afraid you might lose to a woman?” “No.” Norbu’s face contorted with cruelty. “But after losing two sons, I wonder how your father would cope with the death of his daughter.” The words twisted an invisible dagger into my gut. “Go on and tell the emperor,” I said, but my voice shook. “And I’ll … I’ll tell how you poisoned Master Huan.” Norbu let out a cackle. “Longhai’s been telling you stories, eh? You can’t prove it. Neither of you can.” I curled my fists, hiding a wince when my muscles reminded me they were still healing. “You’re not denying it.” “It was his time to go. His designs were old, and His Majesty needed a new tailor anyway.” “That new tailor won’t be you!” I almost accused him of using magic, but I stopped myself. If I could prove it at the trial, maybe I could send him home. Laughing, Norbu touched my cheek and pressed his thigh against my leg. “I always thought you were a pretty boy. Perhaps a little kiss?” I slammed my heel into his toes and slapped him as hard as I could. “Get out,” I said, grabbing my scissors off my bed. I pointed them into his ribs. “Get out now.” Norbu laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t let your secret out … yet.” He stood at the door, then turned back. “I have some respect for you, even. A pity how far you’ll fall.”

He slipped out and was gone. The panic that had kept me frozen me in place thawed into a tight, hard knot. Trembling, I splashed cold water on my face. Even that didn’t startle the shadows from my heart. I couldn’t let Norbu win. Even if he knew my secret, I couldn’t be afraid of him. I would win this final challenge. No matter what it took.

I CHAPTER FIFTEEN t was impossible to sleep with Norbu’s threat looming over me. Every sound rattled me. The mice skittering outside my door, the leaves rustling on the roof. Still, no one came for me, which meant Norbu hadn’t told the emperor my secret. Yet. The more you worry about it, the less you’ll be able to concentrate on actually beating him, I scolded myself. Catching sight of my scissors, I bolted up. And you will. I stayed awake, sketching until morning light streaked the walls of my chamber. Charcoal stained my palm, and my fingers were sore from drawing, but finally, the perfect dress formed on the page. Tucking my sketchbook under my arm, I hastened to my new workroom and began laying out fabrics over the cutting table. I constructed the bodice first, layering sheaths of shimmering pale blue silk over satin, then sewing them all together. It gave the effect of a glittering ocean—the view I’d grown up with. I worked more slowly because of my weak hand, but my seams were still perfect, so tight not even a needle could pierce them. I beaded the collar with a hundred tiny pearls, their luster like the sheen of the stars, and silver-embroidered lace. A light knock broke my concentration. I assumed it was Edan. I’d gotten used to his unannounced visits, and truthfully I looked forward to them, especially now. Perhaps he could give me advice on what to do about Norbu. Not Edan. Ammi, with lunch. The kitchen maid wore a bright smile. Setting her tray on the round wooden table, she let out a gasp and picked up the bodice on my lap. She breathed, holding it to her, “Is this for Lady Sarnai’s dress? It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” “You think so?” I said, inhaling. “I’m not done yet.” Ammi passed it back to me. “What more will you do?” I was glad of a break, so I showed Ammi my sketch. “Do you think she’d like it?” “Even the goddess Amana would love it,” Ammi said firmly. I sighed. “Somehow I think even Amana is less picky than Lady Sarnai.” We giggled together, and for a moment I forgot I was a boy. I cut my laugh short, but Ammi didn’t seem to notice my lapse in character. “Will you be able to finish it in a week?” she said. That was my main worry. I bit my lip. “I’ll do my best.” “Norbu hasn’t even started,” she told me. “I went to bring him lunch, and he wasn’t there.” I swallowed, knowing why Norbu had yet to work on his dress. “Do you know where he’s gone?” “No, but no one is to leave the palace today. Lord Xina has returned. The emperor is not happy about the visit—the gates are closed until he departs.” “Good to know. Thank you, Ammi. You’ve been more helpful than you know.” Ammi’s shoulders heaved, the way mine always did when there was something on my mind that should be kept there. “I saw the Lord Enchanter watching you during the challenge,” she blurted.

“Why didn’t you tell me—” She bit her lip. “I would have understood, but I assumed …” “You think I’m with Edan?” I didn’t know whether to be horrified or amused. “The Lord Enchanter?” “I won’t tell,” she said quickly. “I won’t tell. It explains so much, anyway.” She cleared her throat, looking very red. “He’d always flirt with the maids, but I always wondered why he never chased any of them. Heaven knows they’ve thrown themselves at him.” I started to correct her and tell her that she was out of her mind to think I was involved in some forbidden romance with Edan, but then I stopped. If Ammi thought me a boy who wasn’t interested in girls, we could be friends. I desperately wanted a friend in the palace. “He is very handsome,” I admitted, a little startled to realize it wasn’t a lie. I pursed my lips. What else could I say about Edan? He was tall and lean, not as warriorlike as the emperor, but he looked just as strong. No, I couldn’t say that! I couldn’t comment on his eyes, either, on their ever-changing colors. “He looks out for you,” Ammi said with a giggle. “You’re blushing.” “Am not!” I said. Eager to change the subject, I raised my sketch of Lady Sarnai’s dress again. “Now tell me, as a girl who’s grown up watching the court, would a lady of Lady Sarnai’s station prefer wider sleeves or sleeves that come off the shoulder like what’s in fashion in the West now … ?” Ammi stayed for hours, giving me advice on what the ladies in court wore and on what might please Lady Sarnai. After she left, I sewed until the blisters on my fingers burst and I had to bandage them. I would need the scissors to complete the task in time. I fluttered a sheet of sapphire silk onto my table and then reached for the scissors—the light reflected from the blades and shimmered against the walls behind me. As I raised them, they began to glow. Only after I steamed and pressed my dress and carried it to Lady Sarnai’s apartments did I realize I had barely eaten or slept in days. I wasn’t hungry or tired, though. Only anxious. Norbu was already there, his dress mounted on a wooden mannequin. He’d chosen a heavier silk; from afar it almost looked like velvet, the deep burgundy color thick as blood. As always, every piece of the dress was beautiful—the blouse trimmed with black fur along the collar, the sash beaded with drops of carved scarlet lacquer and jade, and the skirt embroidered with gold phoenixes sweeping up its skillfully draped folds. But my dress was stunning. I was covering my work with a sheet to protect it from the sun when, from the corner of my eye, I saw Norbu stop to greet me. He kicked at the skirts. “Not bad for a boy with a broken hand,” he said, touching my forearm. I jerked. “Get away from me.” His lips puckered, but he let me go. Lady Sarnai, Edan, and Minister Lorsa had arrived. Where was the emperor? I glanced at Edan, but his gaze was on my dress. Was that a smile on his lips?

I looked away, my eye catching sight of a teapot on one of Lady Sarnai’s side tables. I hoped I wouldn’t need to pour it over Norbu’s dress to unmask his illusion. It seemed clear that mine was better. “Master Norbu,” Lady Sarnai said, “your dress is one that my mother would have worn.” She moved to my corner of the room. How could she be so graceful while also so cruel? I couldn’t help admiring her as much as I disliked her. I lifted the sheet covering my dress and heard a few sharp intakes of breath from Lady Sarnai’s maids. “It’s marvelous,” they whispered to one another. “Have you ever seen anything so spectacular?” “All the ladies in court will want one just like it.” I leaned on my cane, drinking in their praise. For the hundredth time, I tried to look at my dress objectively and find a reason for Lady Sarnai to reject it. I couldn’t think of any. My dress was a soft pearlescent blue, one of the many shades of the sea Sendo had taught me to see as a girl. The outer layer, a short robe wrapped under a sash fastened by a silver cord, was a richer sapphire, the long sleeves embroidered with tiny rose blossoms and soaring cranes with magnificent white wings. On the skirt were opal-petaled water lilies and golden fish, swimming in a silvery pool above the hem and embellished with seed pearls and layers of lace, like ripples of water. For an empress, I was sure all would agree mine was more appropriate than Norbu’s. Certainly, more beautiful by far. I exhaled, sure I had finally beaten him. “Very fine work,” Lady Sarnai murmured. “Master Tamarin, truly you’ve outdone yourself.” Her face was soft, almost kind. Was she in a better mood now that Lord Xina was here? “Alas,” she said, “this trial must come to an end. Both Master Tamarin and Master Norbu are skilled beyond measure, but I feel one would serve me better than the other.” The softness dissolved, and she sent a sharp glance at Minister Lorsa. The eunuch clasped his hands and announced, “Master Norbu has won the position.” My knees buckled, and blood rushed to my ears, making my heart pound in my head. What? After everything that had happened, it couldn’t be. I couldn’t fail Baba and Keton, not like this. “H-He can’t win,” I stammered. “Master Norbu’s dress is an illusion.” Before anyone could stop me, I reached for Lady Sarnai’s pot of tea and splashed its contents at Norbu’s dress. The dress wilted, the rich burgundy fading as the texture of the silk thinned and roughened. Slowly, the fur and beading disappeared, and the gold phoenixes shriveled until they were threadbare, leaving behind little more than a sheath of white silk sewn into the form of a dress. “Well, there we have it,” Edan said, a beat after Minister Lorsa sniffed with disbelief. “Magic, and a rather poor display of one at that. Master Tamarin is the more skilled tailor. That is clear to all.” Lady Sarnai crossed her arms, her lips curling into a tight grimace. “Regardless, I prefer Master Norbu’s service.” “But Your Highness,” Edan said thinly, “we all know how strongly you feel about the use of enchantment.” “This is my decision,” she insisted. “The emperor and I agreed upon this in the truce.” “His Majesty and your father agreed you could select a tailor,” said Edan sharply, “not a spy. Master Norbu, I take it, was more compliant than Master Tamarin in accepting your terms.”

Lady Sarnai’s jaw locked, and she glared at me. Meanwhile, Norbu made no move to leave. “Master Tamarin?” he asked calmly. “Don’t you mean Mistress Tamarin?” He was fast for such a large man, and I moved too late. He ripped at the buttons on my tunic, exposing the straps over my chest. Lady Sarnai gasped, and the maids covered their mouths with their hands. A cold tide of alarm seized me. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. I stood immobile—in shock, as the world spun. “She’s a girl, Your Highness,” Norbu said. “She lied to you all.” “No—” I started. Lady Sarnai raised a hand, silencing everyone. “Lord Enchanter,” she said, beckoning Edan to her. “Is this true?” I wasn’t sure whether it was an accusation that he’d known, or whether Lady Sarnai simply wanted him to inspect me. Edan looked at me unflinchingly. “Yes,” he said. “It’s true.” My chest squeezed tight. I met Lady Sarnai’s eyes, waiting for the chilly dismissal I’d come to expect from the shansen’s daughter. But for once, her brows unfurrowed, and her lips eased out of their usual frown. Time stretched. There was something in her stare I’d never seen before: compassion. I dared hope that she might take pity on me. After all, I was a girl—like her. One who’d risked everything to break free of the roles this world expected of her. She would understand better than anyone. Then Lady Sarnai fluttered a hand, and my heart sank. “Take her away.” “Please, Your Highness!” I shouted. “Please—don’t.” Her bodyguards grabbed me, and I turned to Edan. But he spoke not a word in my defense. Nothing, as Norbu smirked and the servants watched with widened eyes. “What will her punishment be?” Edan simply asked Lady Sarnai. The shansen’s daughter paused, considering. “Forty lashes to her back—wake her if she faints and restart the count. I’ll ask His Majesty to have her hanged in the morning.” I let out a strangled cry. Edan bowed to Lady Sarnai. It was curt, but obedient. “As you wish.”

T CHAPTER SIXTEEN here were forty-nine steps down into the palace dungeon. I don’t know why I counted. Perhaps to calm myself. A hopeless goal. My heart hammered so fast that I was out of breath and panting by the time the guards dragged me down the last step. The smell of rot made my insides curdle, and I could hear cockroaches and rats skittering on the cold stones. A thread of fear bristled up my neck. I won’t be afraid, I told myself. I won’t be afraid. My eyes strained to adjust to the darkness, and I barely saw the guards rounding on me. They struck me in the ribs and kicked me to my knees so that I landed in a rotten pile of hay, coughing and whimpering. One guard grabbed me by my hair and chained my ankle to the wall. “We used these shackles last for a maid who stole from His Majesty. He ordered her hands chopped off. Wonder what he’ll do to you.” I coughed until I could breathe again. I couldn’t imagine Emperor Khanujin ordering such a brutal punishment. But what did I really know of him? What did I know of anyone? Edan hadn’t spoken out to help me. That hurt more than any whipping. But he had warned me not to think of him as a friend, hadn’t he? I should have listened. No matter what happens, I won’t scream. I won’t let them break me. Easier thought than done. The guards tore away my tunic and ripped off my chest strips—so fast I’d barely crossed my arms to cover myself when the whip burned into my skin, a stinging line of fire. Blood splattered onto the cold stone floor. I tried not to look at it, tried to focus on keeping my arms over my chest, and on the unthinkable count to forty. It helped that cold tears spilled down my face, blurring my sight. The guards picked up their rhythm. Faster. Harder. Each lash bit into me, gashing my back, and I chewed on my lip so hard my mouth grew hot with blood. On the seventh lash, I screamed. The world went black, then exploded into color, over and over with each lash, and at some point, I stopped remembering to breathe between each scream. “That’s enough!” a voice thundered. I barely recognized who it was. My back was on fire. I collapsed. My shackles clattered away and Edan draped his cloak over me. He was carrying me somewhere. Torches burned from the walls, the light hurting my eyes. But the air was still dank and still cold. Then a metal door shuddered open, and five steps in, Edan stopped. Gently, he sat down, cradling me on his lap. “Go away,” I said, but my words came out garbled. Even I couldn’t understand them. “Open up.” He held my chin up as he dribbled something in my mouth. “Come, Maia. Swallow. You need to drink this.”

The taste was so bitter I nearly spat it out. Edan hadn’t bothered sweetening whatever concoction it was that he’d brought this time. But the pain did dull. Slowly. With a great exhale, I shifted away from him, but his hold on me was firm. He touched my bare back with his fingers. “I should have gotten here earlier,” he said, his jaw clenched. I clutched his cloak, pulling the folds over my chest. “Am I to be hanged?” “This is where they keep the highborn prisoners,” Edan said, avoiding the question. “It’s a little nicer than where you were earlier.” The smell was still rank, but there was a small window that let in light. I turned away from him. “What happened to Norbu?” “He’s been taken away. His Majesty was displeased to hear his loyalty could be so easily bought.” “So he’ll be executed.” “That is the penalty for lying to the emperor.” I lifted my gaze, but my words faltered. “Will I be executed?” Edan’s voice was tight. “I’ve asked Khanujin to hear your testimony first.” “What for?” I said. “Everyone knows I’m a girl.” He didn’t reply. Strange, how little fear I felt. I supposed the lashes helped. Or whatever enchantment Edan was casting over me as he touched my cheek. “Will you stay?” I asked quietly. Edan wiped the corners of my mouth with his handkerchief. “Until you fall asleep, yes.” Tiredly, I laid my head against his chest. He didn’t move. Didn’t wrap his arms around me, or push me away. But his heartbeat quickened a notch. “I’m sorry, Maia,” he whispered. It might have meant more to me had I known that this was the first time Edan the Lord Enchanter had ever apologized to anyone. When I awoke, it was morning. The guards outside were shouting at one another, and Edan was gone. Gingerly, I touched my back. The skin was numb, the gashes already healing. Even the strips of linen around my chest had woven themselves together again. Magic. I swallowed hard, remembering Edan’s visit. Remembering what awaited me in a few short hours. It was difficult to stand. My back ached, and fiery pain shot down my legs as I limped to the door and pressed my ear to the keyhole. I heard sweeping and splashing. “Hurry, you laggards!” someone yelled. “His Majesty is here.” More sweeping. More splashing. Then silence. Nervously, I raked my hands through my hair and backed into the corner. It was hard for me to imagine the emperor stepping into a dungeon.

But here he was, in front of my cell. Gray light flickered over Emperor Khanujin’s face as the guards opened the door. The gold trim of his robes glittered against the bleak cell walls. “Your Majesty,” I croaked, forcing my battered body into a bow. My mouth was dry, and I must have smelled awful. I dared not look up at him. His voice was hard. “Master Tamarin, you find yourself in the unfortunate position of having lied to me. A capital offense.” I hung my head. I’d known from the beginning what would happen if I was caught and found out. I had to be strong. “You fooled Lady Sarnai into thinking you were your father’s son. You are not Keton Tamarin.” “No, Your Majesty.” I stared at my hands. “My name is Maia. I am the youngest child of Kalsang Tamarin.” “His daughter,” the emperor murmured. “Yes, it makes sense now. I always thought there was something different about you. Perhaps it was your eyes.” He stepped forward, into a stripe of light. “They don’t belong to a boy who fought in my war.” Daylight shimmered over the pearl and ruby beads tinkling down the emperor’s headdress as he cocked his head to one side, his gaze settling on my bloodied rags. “Given your lashing, I hope you’ll still be able to sew.” He held out my scissors. They were dull even in the light—a pair of ordinary shears, or so it seemed. I held my breath. “My Lord Enchanter said you are able to wield limited magic,” he said. “Is this true?” “Yes, Your Majesty.” He touched my chin and lifted it. A little thrill coursed through me, making me draw in a sharp breath. I looked up into his eyes in surprise. There I was, ensnared again by the emperor’s mysterious magnificence. Even in the dungeon, he was radiant—his touch was enough to make me forget my pain, my shame. My fear. “A pity you did not tell me earlier,” Emperor Khanujin murmured. “Such a talent is rare, especially in a girl.” He brushed his hand to the side of my lips, and I thought I might faint from the tenderness of it. Then he withdrew his hand, but our eyes were still locked. “You should be hanged. But—” He paused. “But you have a gift I need. So I will commute the sentence, for now.” I tilted my chin up. “Sire?” “You will reassume your brother’s identity. The imperial tailor’s position is not open to women, and must remain so. Edan will make everyone forget your deception. But I will remember.” I swallowed, nodding in spite of my confusion. “The future of A’landi depends on my marriage to the shansen’s daughter. Whatever she requests of you, you will do. You live now only because of your talent with these scissors.” The emperor forced them into my hand. “Fail me, and you will be hanged. As will your father and brother. Do you understand?” “Yes, Your Majesty,” I whispered. I was in a daze—I couldn’t sort out my thoughts. What would I have to do for Lady Sarnai that was so important the emperor was going to spare me? But my tongue could not form the proper words in Emperor Khanujin’s presence. Only when he

was out of sight was his spell broken.

B CHAPTER SEVENTEEN eing named the imperial tailor should have been one of the happiest moments of my life, but my bargain with the emperor cast a cloud over my victory. I had to please Lady Sarnai. Or else Baba and Keton would die. I wasn’t looking forward to working with the shansen’s daughter. Then again, she’d already made me craft shoes out of porcelain and glass, jackets out of paper—and I’d survived. How bad could another dress be? My heart beat wildly as I approached the Great Hall of Wonders. The largest audience chamber in the Summer Palace, it spanned a wide courtyard and was several stories tall, the stairs carved with statues of golden birds, elephants, and tigers. Inside were mosaic walls—a gift from A’landi’s friends in Samaran—brilliant vermillion carpets that stretched as far as my eyes could see, windows that glowed with diffused sunlight, and three prominently displayed jade sculptures of the goddess Amana. Edan cleared his throat, appearing behind me. “I’m happy to see you’re out of that vile place.” I whirled to face the enchanter. For once, no grin tilted his mouth, no mischief twinkled in his eye. Instead he stood, his arms folded, and fixed me with a solemn look. I hesitated. “Did you really make everyone forget that I’m a girl?” He tilted his head to the side. “Whatever His Majesty wishes will be done.” “Just like that?” I frowned. “With a wave of your hand. Or a snap of your fingers.” Edan shrugged. He looked tired, the area around his eyes weary and dark. I wondered whether the magic he’d cast to make everyone forget I was a girl explained the shadows clinging to his face. “It’s a bit more complicated than that” was all he would say. Before I could respond, he gestured at the passageway leading to the main chamber. “Come with me.” I followed nervously, treading across the carpet as if I were moving through a thicket of thorns. I recognized a few faces: Minister Lorsa, Lady Sarnai, and Emperor Khanujin. Lord Xina, who, as Ammi had mentioned, was visiting. The other members of the court were strangers to me: eunuchs, important officials, and one or two foreign dignitaries. I kept waiting for someone to shout, “She’s a girl! She’s an impostor!” But it was as Edan had promised: no one blinked twice at my name, or at my face. Still, each step was heavier than the last. When I finally reached the emperor’s throne, I was breathing hard, as if I had walked a hundred miles, not a hundred steps. “The trial has come to an end,” Emperor Khanujin announced as I knelt before him. “I have decided to award the position of imperial tailor to Keton Tamarin, who will receive a remittance of twenty thousand jens a year.” Twenty thousand jens a year! For a moment, I let myself revel in knowing that Baba and Keton would never starve again. That now I was a master, one whose skill no one could doubt. “Rise, Master Tamarin,” continued the emperor. “Now that you serve the Son of Heaven as a tailor of the imperial realm, you are a master of your craft to all.”

I forced a smile as I stood. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” “Thank you, Master Tamarin,” Emperor Khanujin said. His ministers and officials echoed the words. “Lady Sarnai, you asked that I find the most talented tailor in A’landi to sew a wedding garment for you. Master Tamarin is yours to command.” Lady Sarnai said nothing. Like Edan, she stood beside the emperor’s throne, but she was staring at something—or someone—so hard I thought her gaze might pierce the walls. I could not see who had captured her attention, but I did recognize the man’s voice. It was deep, each word like a growl. “The shansen wishes to know when the marriage will proceed,” said Lord Xina, “and whether Lady Sarnai’s conditions have been met.” I tensed, wondering if I’d imagined a note of anguish in his words. How must it feel for him, knowing that Lady Sarnai’s tactics to delay her marriage to the emperor had failed, and that the woman he loved would soon be wed to another man? “You may report to the shansen that his daughter requests a wedding dress,” the emperor replied tersely, “to be completed by—” “There will be three dresses.” Lady Sarnai suddenly spoke. Her gaze left Lord Xina and settled on me. There was a gleam in her eyes that I did not like. A murmur of terror bubbled in my chest. Slowly, the shansen’s daughter glided down the three steps from the emperor’s throne until she was level with me, so close I could smell the jasmine oil used to perfume her hair. So close I could see the glimmer of confusion flicker across her brow when she held me in her gaze. I held my breath, knowing exactly what she was trying to remember. Edan’s enchantment had worked on everyone else, but if Lady Sarnai— Her expression cleared, and she shook off whatever bothered her about me. It wasn’t as important as what she wanted to say. “Perhaps you know the legend of the god of thieves?” she spoke. “He was so skilled he boasted that he could steal Amana’s children: the sun, the moon, and the stars. The gods laughed at him, but he was undeterred. He captured the first two of Amana’s children easily, but the stars—they danced in the sky and were difficult to catch. So he shot arrows into them, and caught their essence as they bled into the sky. Amana was so enraged that she buried the world in darkness. Even when the god of thieves gave back what he had stolen, she was not appeased. “So he called upon Heaven’s tailor to make Amana a gift. He had kept slivers of the sun, the moon, and the stars, and he asked the tailor to make three dresses so beautiful they blinded the mortal eye. The tailor succeeded. The dresses were so dazzling Amana forgave the thief and returned light to the world, but only for half the day—for the fragments the thief had given to make the dresses meant the day could never be whole again. A lesson never to anger the mother goddess.” Lady Sarnai paused now, and her red lips formed a dangerous smile. “You are the best tailor in A’landi, Master Tamarin. Make me the dresses of Amana.” I heard Lady Sarnai’s mocking tone and struggled to stay calm. Every tailor knew the story of Amana’s dresses. And every tailor knew that no human hands had ever made them. “One woven with the laughter of the sun,” I whispered. “Another embroidered with the tears of the moon, and lastly, one painted with the blood of the stars.” “As I understand it,” said Lady Sarnai calmly, “you will need to journey far to acquire the necessary materials for each gown.”

“But Your Highness,” I blurted, “these dresses are myths. One cannot spin sunlight into thread, nor moonlight—” “Have you ever tried?” I swallowed hard. “No, Your Highness.” “I am aware that many have tried and failed to make these three gowns. Pray your fate will be different.” They hadn’t just failed. They had disappeared or died—all pursuing something that couldn’t be done. And for what? So many legends surrounded the dresses. Some said Amana would grant a wish —no matter how impossible—to the tailor who made them. Others said the dresses would awaken unspeakable power, enough to bring about the end of the world. I suppressed a shudder. “Yes, Your Highness.” “My father will arrive the night of the red sun. That will give you a good month for each dress. I’msure the emperor has informed you how important this task is, and what happens if you fail.” Her tone hardened. “Do not disappoint me.” “All the palace’s resources will be available to you, Master Tamarin,” said the emperor, sounding unfazed by Lady Sarnai’s demands. I was hardly listening. All the jens in the world would not buy me the sun and the moon and the stars. What she was asking was impossible! Lady Sarnai cocked her head to one side. “You look concerned, Master Tamarin. Perhaps the Lord Enchanter can be persuaded to aid you.” A shiver twisted down my spine. Lady Sarnai had wanted me to spy on Edan before, and now she wanted me to ask for his help. It couldn’t be a good change of heart—not for either of us. I folded my arms and bowed, hoping my bent head would hide my rising panic. “Lord Enchanter,” she said, “my young tailor is about to embark on a journey to procure materials for my three dresses. Can he count on your assistance?” “I’m afraid, Your Highness,” Edan said, somewhat testily, “that it is impossible for me to leave the emperor’s side for a prolonged period.” “Ah, you don’t trust your precious Khanujin with me. It bothers you, doesn’t it, that I haven’t fallen for his charms. Perhaps if you’re not here, things might be different.” A dark look flickered across the emperor’s face, and I heard a chorus of stifled gasps behind me. But Edan remained composed. “With all due respect, Your Highness, I must refuse.” Lady Sarnai clucked her tongue. “A pity. You may be the only one who could help poor Master Tamarin. He finds my request quite daunting.” “Perhaps you should change it, then.” Edan’s mouth set in a thin line as he finally regarded me. “The imperial tailor’s skill with the thread and needle is beyond compare. I’m certain he could design something else that would please you.” “Unfortunately, my mind is made up,” Lady Sarnai said. “I desire Amana’s dresses. I have the utmost confidence that Master Tamarin has the talent necessary to sew them. Think how disappointed His Majesty would be if the truce fell apart because our young tailor perished before he could make my wedding dresses.” “Disappointed indeed.” Emperor Khanujin spoke for him. “But the Lord Enchanter best serves the realm while at my side.” Edan’s fists curled at his sides, but his expression didn’t change. He bowed his head, listening as

the emperor continued, “I will confer with Edan this afternoon as to how best to satisfy your request. Now if there is nothing else, Lady Sarnai, my ministers and I have other matters to attend to.” “Master Tamarin, do you have any questions?” she asked. “No,” I whispered, slightly dazed. “Then there is nothing else.” Lady Sarnai smiled sweetly and fluttered her hands to dismiss me. To my surprise, Edan followed. “I can’t go with you,” he hissed once we were outside. “I didn’t ask you to,” I shot back. “I know it’s an impossible task, even for you.” His face folded into a mask of rage. I’d never seen him angry before. It frightened me how black his eyes became, like onyx, too dark to penetrate. “It’s not impossible; it’s a trap meant to get me away from Khanujin, to send me on a fool’s errand.” “Then I’ll go alone,” I retorted. He gritted his teeth. “No, you don’t understand. The emperor has threatened to execute you if you fail. But he wouldn’t need to. Most likely, you’ll be killed on your quest.” Killed. Like Finlei and Sendo. They died in the service of A’landi, just as I would. I bit the inside of my lip, but I wouldn’t let Edan’s warning dissuade me. “Making Amana’s dresses … it’s never been done. I assumed it would be impossible. But you just said it wasn’t.” “That doesn’t mean it should be done.” “Then help me,” I said. “At least tell me, where can I find sunlight so pure it can be spun? And moonlight so dense it can be woven? And the blood of stars … I don’t even know where to begin with that one.” We found ourselves crossing a pond, and Edan stopped to lean on the rail of the wooden bridge, his lips pursed. “Let’s start with the sun,” he said finally. “To the lucky few who’ve seen one, a Niwa spider is locally known as a golden wheel spider. The silk from its webs is worth thousands of jens per ounce, because it is fire-resistant, among other things. A useful characteristic when one is seeking to gather the laughter of the sun.” Hope bubbled in my chest. “So where can I find a Niwa spider?” “In the Halakmarat Desert. They’re rare, but finding one is only the first step.” Edan pulled away from the bridge to face me. “You should leave,” he said quietly. “Run away.” His tone surprised me. He sounded almost … concerned. “My father and brother are counting on me.” I swallowed. “His Majesty said I need to fulfill Lady Sarnai’s demands or else he’ll …” My voice drifted off. He’ll kill them. Edan sighed. “Then I’ll come with you.” I looked up at him, startled. “I thought you said you couldn’t leave the emperor.” “I shouldn’t,” he corrected. “Despite my title, I’m hardly more than a servant myself,” he added bitterly. “One who needs permission from Khanujin to leave his side.” Before I could ask what he meant, he went on, “Helping you is the best way to ensure that war does not break out again. Besides, His Majesty would not refuse you an escort.” I blushed. “Even if that escort is you?” “I’m hoping if I word my request carefully enough, he won’t forbid me specifically to come with you.” “Why won’t he give you permission to leave?” Edan grimaced. “It’s complicated. I protect A’landi by serving the emperor. If I leave, Khanujin

will be vulnerable. He doesn’t like being vulnerable.” “But—” “That’s all you need to know. Don’t pry into my affairs, Maia. You’ll find yourself in a dangerous position.” He seemed unusually on edge. “I’m planning to leave tomorrow,” I said. “We’ll leave in three days,” he corrected, tapping the lantern on one edge of the bridge. The wobbling light made the water in the pond flicker. Three days? I frowned. I was eager to leave the palace, which was starting to feel more like a cage each day. “I’ll need time to prepare for the journey,” he went on. “I’ll give you a list of the things you’ll need.” “I know what I need. The laughter of the sun, the tears of the moon, and the blood of the stars.” “Precisely,” Edan said, not detecting my sarcasm. “It takes a while to devise a plan to acquire all those things. You use the time wisely. Spin or stitch or whatever it is you need to do.” “I don’t have anything to sew with yet … which is why I need to set out as soon as possible.” Edan considered this. “Day after tomorrow, then,” he compromised. “I’ll seek you out with the list when I’m ready.” True to his word, he came to find me the next day just after sunrise. I was awake and already sketching. From the slight rise in his brow, I guessed it impressed him. “You’re up early,” he said. “I’m always up early.” “Here,” he said, passing me a thin piece of parchment. “ ‘Walnuts from the kitchen,’ ” I read with surprise. “Walnuts?” “Ask for the largest ones possible. I’ll need three, no—make that four. Read on.” “ ‘Gloves, to be knitted from spider silk—’ ” “You’ll have to make those,” he interrupted, “first thing—the desert will be our initial stop.” “ ‘Sturdy shoes, preferably made of leather, with sturdy laces. A carpet with no fringes, solid color will be sufficient.’ ” I frowned. “Why do we need a carpet?” “The shoes and carpet, you’ll have to make too,” Edan said instead of explaining. “Guess you’ll be busy.” “Lastly, my scissors.” I set the list down. “Can I ask you something? Why is Lady Sarnai so fixated on these enchanted dresses if she hates magic?” “Because she doesn’t believe you can make them,” Edan said tightly. “Because she’s hoping we’ll die on the trip.” A bit more cheerfully, he added, “We’ll just have to prove her wrong, won’t we?” “I’m not sure I believe they can be made.” “Tell me,” Edan said, “for a girl with so much imagination … why are you so skeptical of magic?” “I’m not skeptical. Not anymore. I just don’t trust it.” “Disappointing,” Edan murmured. “After all the times it’s saved you.” I heaved a sigh, feeling I owed him an explanation. “I don’t even trust the gods. Not to listen,